The training hall was empty—but far from quiet. It felt like a trap. Like a breath held a second too long before the scream.
The silence wasn't absolute—it was watching me. A tension woven between the walls, in the things left unsaid. The air reeked of cold metal. Each footstep echoed like I was walking inside a sealed cave. The pressure pressed against my skin, a quiet warning. It was a tremor before the pain, like wings fluttering before they took off.
It was supposed to be just another lesson. For a moment, I almost believed that. I nearly let myself forget the drama of yesterday. But I knew he wouldn't forget. He was waiting—waiting for the right moment to bring it all back. And the drama… was only beginning.
I stopped. Something didn't feel right. "Seriously? Where's all my stuff?" I asked, confused.
And I was right to ask. A blur of wings, and suddenly, Oliver landed before me. Calm. Collected. As if nothing at all had happened. "You won't need what you're talking about," he said, and caught my hand mid-swing as I tried to punch him.
In one swift motion, he twisted my wrist behind my back and pushed me forward.
Not violently—with a precision that chilled me.
My body reacted instinctively. I ran, ducked, and slid beneath him. My movements teetered between escape and attack. I leapt, twisting my legs around his neck. Tightened. Choked. I almost lost my grip—but held on anyway. Clinging like it was a dream I couldn't wake from. Every move felt risky. It didn't matter if he would save me or hurt me. Our whole relationship was like that—a mix of desire and fear.
My pulse raced. My heart burned—and it didn't feel like mine anymore.
But my body—my mind—was frozen, paralyzed by a fear that had taken root deep in my soul.
For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, except my heartbeat—wild, pounding, alive. Like the drum of some creature clawing its way out of me.
Oliver fell to the floor. His hands grabbed at mine, trying to break my hold.
I released him with a quick roll, landing in front of him. I kicked—he caught my leg.
His skin seared under the fire, lacing my touch. The scent rose between us.
—burnt bark, a thin spiral of smoke.
He tried to keep a straight face—but failed. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he let go of my leg. He stood.
"Well done," he said with quiet wonder. "You managed to pull it off… even in dragon time."
I smiled. The fire in my hand faded, vanishing like a warm memory.
"So, what now? Lesson's over?"
"Not even close."
"Oh great," I said, sarcasm in my voice, biting back a grin. "What kind of torture do you have planned for today?"
"Turn around," he said.
And I obeyed.
My body stiffened. Memories from the last time flooded my mind—but this… this wasn't the same dragon.
That didn't comfort me. It terrified me.
Something moved—like an earthquake beneath the skin of time. Heavy.
Invisible.
My heart stopped, not from terror—from reverence.
My breath caught.
Then I saw him.
His body glowed with molten bronze and flickering gold, moving like a living flame. His wings were vast, their edges lined with soot-black feathers. Eyes like embers—refusing to die. He didn't hover. He didn't move.
He was.
Too quiet. Too alive. Like a memory that refuses to fade.
He shook his wings. Dust, old and thick, fell away like he had just woken from a long dream. His claws scraped the floor, carving time itself. And those eyes—they locked onto mine, as if waiting for a command I couldn't bear to give.
A shadow flickered across the wall—wings like nightmares, fueled by memories I'd buried. Memories of flames I couldn't control. Eyes that burned before they were ever born. This dragon… he wasn't just a creature.
He was the thing I refused to face—my fear. My power. My boundary.
"If you can summon dragons," Oliver said, breaking through the fear, "you should know how to fight them too."
I turned to him. My hand was shaking. I stepped back. I couldn't breathe.
This was a test—but it felt like punishment. Or worse, a trial not of Oliver's design. Something older. Deeper. Something greater than him. A messenger from fate—from something that had seen me before I was ever born.
Like in the vision.
"This is a test?" I whispered. "Or are you throwing me in to die?"
"You could die. That's your choice."
His voice didn't flinch. He answered me as if I had asked him for the time.
"But yes—it's a test," he added after I looked back at him.
I wanted to speak. To scream. To run. But I said nothing.
My silence wasn't fear—it was the truth I didn't dare admit; he was right.
I waited. Waited for him to say something. To put a hand on my shoulder.
To promise it was only a lesson.
But instead… he said nothing.
His eyes searched me. Not as a teacher. Not even as a mentor. As something else entirely. He didn't know if he was supposed to guide me—or push me off the edge. And I didn't know if I wanted him to save me—or shove me so I could finally find out if I would fly—or fall.
Maybe he didn't even know who held the blade—and who had the heart.
This was different now. There was hesitation in him. Or maybe—mercy. A flicker of it. His hand moved toward me—then stopped. His gaze softened—
Almost—then shut again like a closing door.
His eyes lingered on me too long, like he was battling something inside.
And I looked for a way out—but everything around me burned.
"I'm supposed to wish you luck…" he said, his voice too quiet. "… But the truth?" He paused and took a breath. "I'm not sure I want you to survive this.
Because if you do, you'll know who you truly are."
His words hit too deep—like flame without fire.
Was he wishing I'd fail? Or was he afraid of what I'd become if I succeeded?
I didn't know if it was cruelty… or fear.
My knees shook. My fingers curled. My breath vanished.
"I'm not sure I want to know who I am," I whispered. Not because I couldn't handle it—but because I was terrified that what I'd find… wouldn't be human. Or worse—that I'd find something in me that could never be extinguished. That I'd fall in love with the power—even if it burned me alive.
Maybe… damn it, perhaps I wouldn't want to go back at all.