"Valkar, you fool! Control your rage! What if you hurt the female again? Get your stupid dragon breath away from him—now!"
Old Bal's voice trembled, cracking under the weight of an emotion far deeper than mere anger—raw, unmistakable fear. It wasn't for his own safety, nor was it solely for Kael's well-being. It was a profound dread of what Valkar might become, a terror that loomed ominously in his mind if he were to completely surrender to the chaos within him. Bal imagined the darkness that could be unleashed, a force so powerful and unpredictable that it sent shivers down his spine.
Because when a dragon's instincts took over, things never ended well. There'd be no warning. No mercy. Just fire, rage... and ash.
And if Valkar's iron grip faltered now, chaos would erupt in an instant, leaving no room for regrets or the desperate whisper of prayer. Not Bal's fierce spirit, not Kael's unwavering resolve, nor the collective strength of the entire tribe would stand a chance against the tempest he would unleash.
They would all burn.
Dragons had always walked on the edge of civilization, tolerated rather than accepted.
Their raw, destructive power rendered them untouchable, instilling fear akin to curses wrapped in sinuous scales and fierce jaws. Even the youngest among them possessed the potential to raze a village to the ground in mere minutes, their fiery breath and colossal strength a testament to their formidable nature. It wasn't as if dragons were outright banned from the clans or cities; rather, they were sidestepped, treated like wild storms that raged on the horizon—unstable forces of nature best left undisturbed.
The air thrummed with tension in their presence, and whispers of caution filled the minds of those who dared to tread too close to their territory.
And yet, their most dangerous trait wasn't their fire.
It was their possessiveness.
When a dragon chose a mate—especially a female—he wanted her wholly, singularly, permanently. Such expectations were absurd among beastmen.
Why?
Because females were rare, and they were meant to breed—freely, strategically, generously.
It was common, even celebrated, for a female to bond with ten or more beastmen. That was how the tribes survived. Even the laziest, loudest, ugliest female had her harem of males trailing behind her, eager to serve.
But dragons? They didn't understand sharing.
They didn't want to.
And when their mating instincts were rejected, they started taking.
Bal had staked everything on the tumultuous emotions swirling within Valkar. He understood that beneath the raging inferno of jealousy and fury, there lay a flicker of something deeper—a consuming obsession with this enigmatic female. If anything could penetrate the fiery chaos of Valkar's heart, it would surely be the irresistible pull of that infatuation, a fragile thread of hope in an otherwise volatile storm.
With Kael.
It worked.
The moment Valkar looked down at the trembling figure on the bed—his "mate"—his chest clenched.
His breath, once seething flames and violet sparks, halted mid-snarl.
Was Kael afraid of him?
Was that fear in his wide, tear-filled eyes?
His heart dropped.
A bucket of ice seemed to pour over his head. His fire dimmed to nothing.
"Will he hate me now? Will he fear my jealousy… my possessiveness?"
Valkar had never feared anything in his life. Not when his mother abandoned him. Not when he faced death alone in the wilds. Not even when rival beastmen had nearly torn him apart.
But now…
Now he was terrified.
Not of Kael's rejection—but of Kael's fear.
And yet, like any proud dragon, he masked the tremor in his hands with stoicism. He refused to let Bal see the cracks.
So he turned his face away, jaw tight, tail coiled—unreadable.
Yes—Kael was trembling.
But not for the reasons Valkar assumed.
In truth, Kael had come to terms with the insanity of this world hours ago. He accepted the madness. The talking beastmen. The snake-man. The forced potion.
What he couldn't accept was this one simple fact:
They kept calling him "the female."
That word again. "Female."
He heard it from Bal again, and this time, it felt like a slap.
His entire body went still.
The trembling wasn't fear—it was rage.
He wasn't weak. He wasn't some fragile doll. And sure, he had told people back home he was gay, but that didn't mean he was some androgynous elf who wore dresses and fluttered his eyelashes.
He was a man. A real, damn proud man.
What was with this place?!
Did they think he looked like a girl?
The room thickened with tension.
Bal crossed his arms tightly over his chest, a stormy expression etched across his face—not aimed at Kael, but rather directed at the brooding dragon lurking in the shadows. Its eyes flickered toward the bed with an intensity that hinted at a lovesick predator, each glance brimming with both longing and danger. The air was thick with tension, as if the very atmosphere crackled with the unspoken emotions swirling around them.
Kael had had enough.
He cleared his throat.
"Excuse me."
His voice was calm. Measured. Dangerous.
"Thank you… for saving me, protecting me from that beast, and giving me medicine as well."
Valkar looked up, eyes wide.
Kael turned directly toward him, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
Valkar froze.
His violet eyes, normally narrow and intense, widened into almost round pupils. His breath caught.
The female—his female—was thanking him.
Was smiling.
Valkar felt… warm. Excited. Giddy.
He tilted his head slightly, unable to stop himself.
Kael, however, was less impressed.
He found himself weirdly distracted—by the man's face, sure, which was admittedly sculpted like a fallen god. But mostly…
Where was his shirt?!
Wait. Hadn't Valkar been shirtless earlier?
Now some strange black fabric—was it even fabric?—covered his chest. Kael squinted.
[Stop staring, you idiot. This is not the time to drool over some fantasy himbo.]
He took a deep breath, summoning every drop of grace he had.
And then he dropped the bomb:
"Thank you for your help… but I am not a female."
---
🜂 Cliff Point #5: Valkar Shattered
Silence.
Utter, complete silence.
Valkar didn't move.
His breath stalled.
His gaze darkened.
"Not… a female?"
His mind reeled.
The creature before him—the one who'd smiled, who had lips softer than moon petals, eyes deep as forest lakes… was not his?
Not his female?
Not even a female?
Had he been… lied to?
Tricked?
Was Kael saying this just to reject him? Just to escape him?
Valkar's joy turned into fury.
His heart ached—but his pride? His pride roared.
---
🜂 Final Cliff Point: The Dragon's Dilemma
He couldn't understand it.
He would rather Kael insult his strength, spit in his face, even hate him—anything but this.
Anything but deny the bond.
Anything but reject fate.
His tail lashed behind him once, slicing the air like a whip.
His claws flexed.
His eyes narrowed.
And yet… he didn't attack. He didn't scream.
He just stood there, shattered.
Because for the first time in his life, Valkar the dragon felt unwanted.
And he didn't know what to do with that kind of pain.