Chapter 5 – The Chained Dragonkin

1
The cave mouth glowed faint blue, a perfect circle of runes humming like it had something to prove.

Ryn crouched, wings twitching under her cloak. “That’s either dragon magic or someone’s very dramatic ‘keep out’ sign.”

“How bad could it be?” I asked.

“Bad enough no one’s been brave or dumb enough to touch it for years,” she said, leaning closer. Her tail swayed—slow, wary. “This is binding magic. Old, but not ancient. Whoever made it didn’t want the seal broken easily.”

The light pulsed as I stepped forward.

Ryn froze mid-breath. “Oh good. It likes you. Maybe it’ll eat you next.”

“Your optimism is inspiring.”

The glow had a rhythm—steady, alive. A line from my dream surfaced, sharp as a whispered promise:

If you can hear me, hold on. I’m coming.

It felt true then. It felt true now.

Ryn eyed me. “You’ve got the spooky look. You’re about to say something dumb and magical, aren’t you?”

“Probably both,” I admitted. “Worth a try.”

“Oh perfect. Try not to explode near me.”

I pressed my palm to the cold stone. “If you can hear me… hold on. I’m coming.”

The lines flashed white. The ground shuddered. Air whooshed out of the cave like the mountain exhaled.

Ryn yelped, wings snapping open. “I told you not to—!”

Light flooded everything.

Then sound vanished.

2
When I came to, I was half-buried in gravel, ears ringing.

“Was that supposed to happen?” I croaked.

Ryn coughed, singed hair sticking in heroic angles. “You’re asking me? You’re the walking hazard sign with magic dreams.”

Chains of light cracked one by one, falling to dust. The air shimmered.

And then I saw her.

A woman knelt at the seal’s centre — tall, strong even through exhaustion, white-and-blue hair clinging to her back, faint scales glinting down her arms. Her tail twitched once, sluggish and tired.

She lifted her head, blinking against the fading glow. Emerald-blue eyes met mine — fierce, proud… and then widening in stunned recognition.

“You… the dream-walker.”

For half a heartbeat, all her poise fractured — relief, disbelief, and a small, unguarded hope flashed across her face before she caught it and straightened again.

Ryn whispered, “Oh, she’s pretty. Please tell me she’s friendly.”

The last fragments of the seal crumbled. The mountain fell silent.

Veyra looked at me — steady now, trying to mask everything — but her fingers trembled once against the stone.

“You came,” she said quietly, as if reminding herself it wasn’t a hallucination. “I reached out through dreams, again and again. I called for help… and you heard me. I recognised your voice the moment you spoke.”

3
I knelt carefully. “Easy. You’ve been sealed a long time.”

Her gaze drifted to her hands, still shaking. “Years… or something close. Time decays in isolation.” She exhaled slowly. “The telepathic link should have broken, but when you answered my dream, I trusted you. That trust is what allowed the seal to respond. Without it, I would have slept until the world forgot me.”

“Who sealed you?” I asked.

A pause. Then, steady:

“My own kin.”

Ryn’s brows shot up.

“They knew the Demon King’s hunters were closing in,” Veyra continued, voice soft but sure. “If taken, I could be twisted… or used to find the rest of my clan. So they chose to hide me — even from myself. They promised they would wake me when it was safe.” She touched her chest, where faint sigils lingered like bruises. “But the promise failed long before the seal did.”

Silence settled — warm, heavy, and human.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Her chin lifted a fraction — dignity holding her together. “Do not be. They acted out of love. I survived. That is enough.”

She tried to rise—and staggered. I caught her on instinct.

“Careful,” I said. “You’re still weak.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, immediately swaying again.

Ryn snorted. “ ‘Fine’ has a different definition in dragon.”

A tremor rolled through the cavern—faint, like stone stretching after a long sleep.

“Time to go before the ceiling changes its mind,” I said.

Ryn didn’t argue. She slung the dragonkin’s arm over her shoulder. “Hold on, scales. I’m driving.”

4
The next thing I knew, we were airborne again. Wind tore past us as the ridge dropped away.

Ryn looked far too pleased with herself. “See? Smooth takeoff!”

“You launched us off a cliff!”

“Semantics!”

Between us, the dragonkin groaned. “Are you two always like this?”

“Only when we’re alive!” Ryn chirped.

A violent downdraft slammed into her wings.

“Ryn—”

“I’ve got it! I’ve got—nope, don’t got it!”

Trees rushed up to meet us.

All three of us screamed with different levels of dignity.

I thrust out my hand, wind magic kicking hard. Gale Step — Burst. The air warped, slowing our fall just enough to angle us away from branches and into open water.

SPLASH.

The lake swallowed us whole—boots, cloaks, dignity. I surfaced, gasping. Ryn flailed beside me, wings half-folded. The dragonkin emerged next, sputtering and furious in a very regal way.

Ryn coughed water. “See? Perfect landing!”

“You mean crash site,” I groaned.

The dragonkin blinked between us, too tired to argue. “Please tell me this isn’t your standard rescue.”

“We’re consistent,” Ryn said brightly.

5
We crawled ashore, dripping, freezing, vaguely traumatized. I coaxed a fire from damp kindling and the last of my wind magic. Steam began to rise from our clothes.

“I’m Eron,” I said once my teeth forgave me. “This is Ryn. And you?”

She hesitated. “Veyra. Guardian of the western range.” A soft breath. “Once.”

Ryn tilted her head. “Fancy title for someone currently steaming like a dumpling.”

Veyra looked unamused. “I’ll remember that when I can fly again.”

Her wings twitched—beautiful, unsteady.

Ryn grinned. “You’re welcome for the emergency evacuation.”

“You dropped me into a lake.”

“I prefer ‘accelerated hydration.’ ”

“Let’s call it even,” I said, hands up. “Everyone’s alive. That’s a win.”

“Your standards are disturbingly low,” Ryn muttered.

6
The fire settled into a friendly crackle. Night gathered with the relieved sigh of a day that had tried very hard to kill us and failed.

Veyra stared into the flames, but her voice thinned to a whisper.
“I thought… no one would ever come for me.”

She didn’t sob. She didn’t break loudly. Her shoulders simply trembled—the kind of tremble born from years of silence, helplessness, and holding too much alone. Tears slipped down, quiet and unguarded.

I didn’t think, I just moved. I pulled her gently into a hug. No grand speeches. No heroic posing. Just… being there.

For a heartbeat she went rigid—pride resisting on instinct. Then she exhaled once, shuddering, and leaned into the contact.

“You’re not alone now,” I said. “Not anymore.”

A soft rustle, then Ryn pressed in from the other side, arms looping around both of us. She didn’t tease. She didn’t smirk. She just held on—tail curling around like she was trying to help keep the pieces together.

For a long few breaths, none of us said anything.

Just fire.
Just warmth.
Just three people who had no business surviving today, sharing one small, fragile peace.

When Veyra finally pulled back, she wiped her eyes quickly, as if embarrassed to have any. Her voice was steadier.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Ryn gave a tiny, lopsided smile. “Don’t mention it. We have a reputation to uphold now. Emotional support and questionable decision-making, full combo.”

Veyra actually huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounds… accurate.”

Ryn folded her arms, flicking her tail. “He does that. It’s very inconvenient for villains.”

7
I dug in my pack, produced the last honey bun from home. “Here. Try this.”

Veyra hesitated. “Food from strangers—”

“Good thing we’re not strangers anymore,” I said, offering it closer.

She accepted, took a cautious bite—then blinked. “This carries mana.”

“Family recipe,” I said. “Our bread gives small buffs. Helps when potions are luxury goods.”

“Your family bakes magic?”

“Apparently.”

Ryn sighed. “Miracle bread and he’s still broke.”

“It’s called wholesome devotion.”

“It’s called bad budgeting.”

Veyra’s laugh was quiet, genuine. Her tail flicked; a spark jumped in the fire like it approved.

8
We let the silence be comfortable. The air smelled of wet grass and smoke. Ryn’s tail curled close, twitching lazily. Veyra rested her forehead on her knees, exhausted but peaceful for the first time in years.

That familiar warmth between Ryn and me hummed—a soft thread, steady, not demanding.

Veyra noticed, eyes half-lidded. “You two share a strange bond.”

“Accident,” Ryn said.

“Lucky accident,” I said at the same time.

We glanced at each other. Ryn looked away first, ears a touch pink. “Don’t get poetic. It’ll ruin your brand.”

9
The lake rippled, then smoothed. Stars came out—few, bright.

Veyra watched them. “If my clan is gone—and I fear it is—I have no home to return to.”

“You do now,” I said. It came out before I could overthink it.

Ryn’s tail tapped my boot once—approval disguised as impatience.

Veyra considered us both, the fire, the quiet. “Then I will travel with you. For as long as it is wise. I will learn what became of my people… and choose what to build in the absence.”

“Hybrid plan,” Ryn said, satisfied. “Reclaim the future, not just the past.”

Veyra nodded. “And until I can stand alone again, I will stand with you.”

I poked the fire, trying not to smile too obviously. “Tomorrow we’ll find a safer road. Today we did enough breaking, falling, and nearly drowning.”

“For one afternoon,” Ryn corrected.

“Don’t jinx it.”

“Too late.”

Veyra breathed out—a release that sounded like the end of winter. “You two are… very strange.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said today,” Ryn said.

The night settled, soft and steady. Three travelers, one fire, and the beginning of something that felt like choice.