The hunger was fading. Not gone, but dulled enough that my mind could focus on something other than the gnawing emptiness inside me.
The carcass lay before me, torn apart by my own hands. Blood dried on my fingers, beneath my nails. The air reeked of iron and raw flesh. I should have felt disgusted.
I didn't.
That was the worst part.
I had fought on battlefields, trudged through the corpses of men I had killed, wiped blood from my blade without a second thought. But this? This hadn't been war. This had been instinct.
A dull throb pulsed at the base of my skull. My body felt strong, whole—too whole. I flexed my hands against the ice, feeling a power there that I hadn't earned. A power that belonged to something else.
To her.
To Sythriss.
I swallowed hard, pushing the thought down, trying to ground myself.
"The hunger will pass, in time."
The voice broke the silence—steady, but careful.
I tensed, my gaze snapping toward the elf.
He stood just outside of arm's reach, his posture measured, cautious. His ragged silks hung loosely over his frame, the fabric still bearing traces of wear from years of use. But it wasn't the clothing that held my attention.
It was his presence.
Or rather—the lack of it.
I could feel his core. It pulsed with magic, coiled tight beneath his skin. I knew it was there, but beyond that? Nothing. He had no presence. No weight. Like he wasn't really standing before me at all.
I exhaled slowly, licking the last remnants of blood from my lips before forcing my voice to work.
"How do you know that?"
The elf's gaze was steady, but I caught the flicker of something in his expression.
"Because I have dealt with hatchlings before," he said simply. "Though none quite as... unique as you."
I frowned. "You mean none as human."
A beat of silence.
Then, "Perhaps."
I studied him for a long moment. There was something about him that felt… practiced. The way he held himself, the way he chose his words carefully.
"Who are you?"
The elf inclined his head slightly. "Lirian. I serve the Ice Empress."
I arched a brow, my gaze flicking over the tattered silks draped over his frame. The fabric was fine, or had been once, but now it was frayed at the edges, worn and patched in places.
His lips twitched slightly, a shadow of something like amusement. "At the moment, I am not… in the most favorable disposition to her."
I frowned. "You're a prisoner."
Lirian exhaled. "We both are."
I frowned deeper, shifting where I sat. "Then why are you here?"
He hesitated, then said, "Because the Empress commands it."
A vague answer. Carefully worded. He wasn't lying, but there was more to it than that.
I studied him, my instincts prickling with something close to unease. He was careful. Too careful. His movements, his words—measured in a way that spoke of experience. He knew how to handle dangerous things.
Which meant he considered me dangerous.
I wasn't sure if I disagreed.
Lirian gestured toward the remnants of my meal.
"It would be best if you continued eating."
I frowned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I've had enough."
Lirian's expression remained neutral. He did not press, but he also did not move away.
"I do not presume to give orders, but I have seen what happens to those who deny their nature for too long." His voice was quiet, almost careful. "Your body is still adapting. If you resist now, you may regret it later."
I clenched my jaw. "I can control myself."
Lirian lifted a brow. "Oh? Yes, I could see how well that worked for you earlier. Very composed. Utterly dignified."
I stiffened.
He was mocking me.
Blatantly.
And I hated that I had no response.
Because he wasn't wrong.
The memory flashed—too quick, too vivid. The hunger. The scent of him. That split second where I had almost—
I clenched my fists, turning my gaze away.
"That was different."
Lirian hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Was it?"
I gritted my teeth.
"You have no idea what I'm feeling."
"Perhaps not," Lirian admitted. "But I do know this—hunger is a cruel master. You can fight it all you like. But eventually, it wins."
I swallowed hard.
I forced myself to meet his gaze. His expression remained unreadable, but his meaning was clear.
I had just lost control.
Ripping into the carcass like an animal, succumbing to hunger like a starving beast. I had barely stopped myself from lunging at him.
My stomach twisted.
I exhaled sharply, looking away, ashamed.
Lirian inclined his head slightly. "There is no shame in learning restraint. It is a skill, just as any other. One that can be honed."
I frowned. "And you think I need to learn it."
"I think you need to survive." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "That means knowing your strengths. And your weaknesses."
I clenched my fists against my sides, my nails pressing into my palms.
"I don't need a keeper."
"No," Lirian agreed easily. "But you may need a teacher."
I whipped my head toward him, incredulous.
His lips twitched, not quite a smirk. "Ah, forgive me—'guide.' Yes, that sounds far more dignified, doesn't it?"
I glared at him.
Lirian, to his credit, did not look away.
"Your hunger will return. It is the nature of what you are now." His voice was steady. Certain. "The more you grow, the more it will change. In time, it will become something you can manage. But denying it entirely?" He exhaled. "That is a battle even a Dragon cannot win."
The weight of his words pressed down on me, heavier than I expected.
Manage it.
Not defeat it. Not control it.
Just survive it.
I hated that.
I exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from my shoulders.
"Fine."
Lirian blinked.
I reached forward, tearing another piece from the carcass.
Lirian did not react, did not gloat. He only nodded slightly, as if this was simply the expected outcome.
I hated that too.
But I ate.
"Good," Lirian said, his voice quiet but firm as I tore into another chunk of meat.
I paused, glancing up at him. "How can you tell?"
"I can feel the flow of your magic beginning to even out."
I frowned. Magic?"You mean that… core? That heat in my chest?"
He tilted his head, considering me for a moment. "I don't know. I'm not a dragon. I've never felt what you describe. But maybe."
Not exactly the most reassuring answer, but it was something.
He turned, gesturing deeper into the cavern. "Come. I've made a small place for myself down here. It isn't much, but it's... quieter."
I hesitated, looking around. Jagged walls of ancient ice surrounded us, slick and curved like the inside of a frozen cathedral. The air was cold, biting, but not painful.
"This place looks like one giant room."
Lirian nodded. "It is. We call it the Hatchery. Dragons are born here—or reborn, in your case. It's carved into the base of the Ice Spire, a sacred place for your kind. But there are tunnels—caves deeper underground that stretch further than most know."
My brow furrowed. "And what's in those caves?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Creatures. Monsters. Things Her Majesty has imprisoned. Some find their way in. Others were always here. It's not a place meant for wandering."
I narrowed my eyes. "Then why haven't they come for you?"
That finally earned a hint of a smile.
"Because even they know better than to provoke an ancient dragon guarding her brood."
I sighed, feeling a little tired after the meal. My mind beginning to register some changes in my biology. No, don't think about it.
The tunnels stretched ahead, winding through the ice. Lirian moved with ease, his steps light, his posture relaxed—but not careless. Measured. He didn't look back, but he spoke nonetheless.
"There's a place nearby. It isn't much, but it will be better than staying out in the open."
I said nothing. I wasn't sure why. Maybe because I knew I didn't have a choice. Maybe because, for the first time since waking, I was too damn tired to argue.
A pause. Then, as if in passing, "I'll need to find something for you to wear."
The words struck harder than they should have.
I had been too focused on the hunger, too caught up in the sheer wrongness of my body moving in ways it hadn't before. But now? Now I was aware.
The length of my limbs. The way my fingers felt—too slender, too delicate. My hands were smaller, my grip weaker, like I'd lost something fundamental without realizing it. I flexed them, testing the strength, but the weight behind them wasn't the same.
Something stirred in my chest. A faint warmth—steady, pulsing—like breath beneath my ribs.
I clenched my jaw, snapping back to instinct—to training. I had fought on empty stomachs before. I had trudged through mud and blood with wounds that should have killed me. I had ignored pain when it wasn't convenient.
Prioritize. Worry about it later.
But no matter how much I willed myself forward, my mind betrayed me.
The narrowness of my shoulders. The absence of muscle where there should have been. The way my breath moved through my chest, lighter… higher.
It was all wrong.
It wasn't me.
But it was.
The warmth inside me pulsed again, a quiet surge—not threatening. Responsive.
Lirian said nothing further. He turned down a side path and disappeared into the tunnels, leaving me alone in the soft quiet of his makeshift den.
The cavern walls curved gently around the stream. Smooth ice, shaped by heat and time. A pile of old furs lay to one side. The stream itself ran clear, barely steaming as it passed over warm stone.
I stood at its edge.
Not because I wanted to.
I needed to. The dried blood clung to my skin, stiff and flaking. The scent of iron still sat in my throat.
But my feet wouldn't move.
The water shimmered before me, calm and still.
Just kneel. Just wash it off. It's not hard.
And yet, I stood frozen.
Because I knew what came next.
I had been avoiding it. Suppressing it. Pretending I was too tired, too focused on surviving to care.
But here—now—there was nothing left to hide behind.
The water would show me the truth.
My chest tightened. That warmth flared higher, curling under my ribs, rising with my breath.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.
Move.
The warmth surged—then paused. Waiting.
I forced one leg forward, then the other, and dropped to my knees at the edge of the stream.
The cold of the stone seeped through my skin, grounding and hollow all at once. I leaned forward and reached out.
The water licked my fingers. It was warm, faintly so, enough to coax movement from limbs that had gone stiff.
I watched the blood slip away from my hands—her hands—dissolving into soft red ribbons before vanishing beneath the surface.
I exhaled—shaky, uneven.
Then I looked up.
And saw her.
Pale blue eyes stared back from the stream.
Not mine.
Hers.
Smooth skin, untouched by scars. Softer cheekbones, fuller lips. Feminine. Hair like spun frost, cascading in waves past her shoulders.
The warmth inside my chest surged. Stronger.
Like it was glad.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
That isn't me.
But it is.
It is!
The pressure behind my eyes built fast, the edges of my vision blurring. My jaw clenched, but it didn't stop the sound that escaped me.
Not a sob.
Not a scream.
Just a sound.
Ragged. Fractured. So light and short that it could be mistaken for a whisper.
The warmth in my chest flared once—brilliant, encompassing.
Then it faltered.
Collapsed in on itself like a flame starved of air.
I folded forward, hands slipping deeper into the stream, shoulders shaking.
The water rippled outward.
I curled my arms around myself, dragging the furs closer without thinking. Not to dry off. Not to warm up. Just to hide.
The heat in my chest barely stirred. Faint. Flickering.
I didn't wipe away the tears.
I let them fall-in silence.
And for the first time since waking…
I let myself feel it.