Dawn did not arrive gently.
It crawled into Hollowdene like a reluctant witness, pale light slipping between massive trees and settling over a battlefield that looked less like nature and more like aftermath.
The clearing was ruined.
Scorched earth. Broken trunks. Deep gouges torn through stone where claws had landed and tails had struck. Blood—dark, thick, and drying—stained the ground in multiple places.
Some of it belonged to the dragon.
More of it belonged to Aldrich.
He was still standing.
Barely.
His coat was gone, burned away during the night. The black undershirt beneath it hung in tatters, clinging to his frame. His back screamed with every breath, ribs shifting painfully beneath skin. His right thigh throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache where a claw had raked him open hours earlier.
His hands shook.
Not from fear.
From fatigue.
Across the clearing, the dragon lifted its head slowly.
It had not slept.
Neither had Aldrich.
The creature's breathing was heavier now. Controlled, but no longer effortless. A torn wing membrane dragged slightly as it shifted its weight. Its neck bore multiple shallow cuts, each one earned through pain and precision.
The dragon had learned.
So had Aldrich.
They regarded one another without movement.
Two beings stripped down to intent.
Then the dragon moved first.
It surged forward—not in a charge, but in a sudden, calculated rush meant to crush Aldrich beneath sheer mass. Aldrich reacted instantly, forcing his legs to obey despite screaming protest. He dove sideways, rolled, came up slashing—
Steel met scale.
Sparks burst.
The impact rattled his arms to the bone.
The dragon twisted, tail snapping toward him with brutal speed. Aldrich ducked low, felt the wind of it pass inches above his head, then sprang upward, driving his blade toward the joint he had tested the night before.
The katana sank deeper this time.
The dragon roared.
The sound hit harder than before.
Aldrich felt it inside his skull, vibrating through bone and thought. His vision tunneled. His knees buckled.
The dragon struck him mid-stagger.
A forelimb slammed into Aldrich's side, lifting him off the ground and throwing him across the clearing like a broken weapon. He hit stone, bounced, and rolled until momentum died.
He didn't move.
For a moment, even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Aldrich lay on his back, staring at the sky through broken branches. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, uncaring. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Every inhale felt like dragging knives through his lungs.
Get up.
His body refused.
The dragon approached.
Each step sent tremors through the ground, slow and certain. This was how it ended prey—no rush, no excess. Just inevitability.
Aldrich laughed softly.
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
"So this is the line," he murmured. "Is it?"
His fingers twitched.
Memory stirred—not of training, not of bloodshed—but of his mother's voice. Of Eldran's hand on his shoulder. Of the promise carved into fire and bone.
I will not rest. Even in death.
Aldrich rolled.
The dragon's claw struck where his head had been, shattering stone. Aldrich forced himself up on shaking legs, blade rising with him as if pulled by instinct alone.
He didn't wait.
He ran.
Straight at the dragon.
Fire erupted.
Not a wide blast—focused, precise, deadly.
Aldrich didn't dodge away.
He ran through the edge of it.
Skin burned. Hair singed. Pain tore through him so violently it nearly stole his consciousness—but he kept moving, cutting at the last possible instant.
The blade carved along the dragon's neck.
Blood poured.
The dragon recoiled, fury replacing calculation.
Now it attacked wildly.
Claws. Teeth. Tail.
The clearing became chaos.
Aldrich was struck again and again—thrown, slammed, dragged. He lost track of time, of count, of how many bones were bruised or cracked. His vision blurred repeatedly. His ears rang constantly.
At one point, the dragon caught him.
Jaws closed around Aldrich's torso.
Pressure crushed his ribs. Breath exploded from his lungs. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.
He stabbed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Into flesh. Into muscle. Anywhere the blade could reach.
The dragon released him with a roar and hurled him aside.
Aldrich hit the ground and didn't rise immediately.
This time, he stayed down.
His body trembled violently. Muscles spasmed uncontrollably. His grip loosened, blade slipping from numb fingers.
He stared at his hands.
They barely responded.
So this was it.
Not defeat.
Exhaustion.
The dragon stood over him, chest heaving now, blood dripping steadily from multiple wounds. It had never bled like this before. It had never worked this hard to kill a single human.
It lowered its head.
Not to strike.
To look.
Aldrich met its gaze.
There was no hatred there.
No malice.
Only recognition.
A creature that had ruled its territory now facing something that refused to yield.
Aldrich dragged his katana back into his hand.
He forced himself to his knees.
"Go on," he rasped. "Finish it."
The dragon did not move.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Finally, the dragon stepped back.
One step.
Then another.
It turned—not retreating in fear, but in decision—and moved toward the far end of the clearing, settling near the stone ridge where it had first emerged.
It did not sleep.
But it stopped attacking.
Aldrich collapsed onto his side, breath coming in broken gasps.
He didn't smile.
He didn't celebrate.
He closed his eyes, letting pain wash over him fully for the first time since the fight began.
Day Two ended not with victory—
But with survival earned through will alone.
And in the silence between breaths, Aldrich understood something new:
Fury was no longer enough.
Tomorrow, he would need something deeper.
Something colder.
Something unbreakable.