To love a monster was to learn the art of forgetting.
You forgot the sound of his footsteps first—too heavy, too certain, always coming toward you. Then the way his hand fit around yours. Then his voice, which was never cruel until it was. You forgot the color of his eyes and remembered instead how they looked when he lied. You forgot that once, long ago, he asked you to stay.
Sibelle—Bonnie, now, to those who needed her to be softer—stood at the edge of the Ijun Ocean, her feet half-buried in the black sand. The sky over Aazor was the color of mourning glass, stained purple by an oncoming storm. The wind came hard off the water, tangling her hair and soaking her clothes. It did not touch her grief.The wave had hit her hours ago.
Not from the sea. From the stars.
She had dropped the fish knife. Her knees had gone out. Kinsley had caught her before she hit the dock, cradled her as the wind in her chest turned to screaming. The others hadn't understood.
But Salacia had.
The planet was burning.
She felt it in her molars. In the pull of her joints. In the ache in her womb that had never gone away since the last time she gave birth to a mistake and swore it would be the final one.
Hunat was bleeding.
And it was his doing.
He was calling for her.
The monster. Her husband.
She sank to her knees in the sand.
And cried.
It was ugly. Years of restraint cracking all at once. She sobbed like someone who had held her breath for centuries and finally remembered air. Her nails dug into the earth. Her hair clung to her mouth. Her breath hitched with each broken inhale.
She was so lost in it she didn't hear the footsteps until they stopped beside her.
"I should have known you'd run to the sea," Salacia said.
Bonnie didn't lift her head. "It doesn't ask questions."
"Neither do cowards."
Salacia crouched beside her, adjusting the coral wrap that covered her legs. They were still new—awkward and angular, shaped from water memory and magic—but she carried them like she had always belonged to land.
"I felt it too," Salacia said softly.
Bonnie nodded. "He's tearing the city apart."
"To get your attention."
Bonnie turned, eyes rimmed red. "Do you think I don't know that?"Salacia's gaze didn't waver. "I think you know. I think you're just hoping if you wait long enough, someone else will stop him for you."
The ocean roared.
Bonnie looked back to it. "He was never supposed to go this far."
"He's not going anywhere. He's calling you."
Bonnie closed her eyes.
Salacia touched her shoulder. "You loved him. That doesn't make you guilty. But if you let him destroy what's left of your world for the sake of your absence—then you are."
"You are sworn to secrecy," Bonnie reminded her.
"I never said I'd tell it," Salacia assured her. "But there is a full-grown dragon ready to cross the stars and kill your husband. Maybe it's time you do something."
"Do you think this is about the Collar?" Bonnie asked.
"No," Salacia said. "It's about you. It always was. And now it's about your daughter, too."
Bonnie rose slowly.
The wind pulled at her coat.
"He won't stop."
"Give him the bloody collar, Sibelle," Salacia said. She plucked ocean water from the core of the sands and sprinkled it onto Bonnie's neck. The black sands clinging to it outlined the collar hidden by Neptune's magic. "And end his children's misery."
****
I had never touched a dragon before Ari.
Not truly. Not like this.
His scales were warm beneath my fingers—each one edged in gold but shadowed in black, a reminder of what he'd done, what we'd lost. They weren't smooth. They had texture, memory. Grief folded into gleam. He lay coiled like a sleeping storm, wings tucked close, eyes shut for now. Bonnie—tiny Bonnie—dozed near his throat, her own golden glow dimmer in comparison but no less alive.
My hand moved slowly along his flank, tracing the fault lines of his becoming.
"You're still mine," I whispered. "Even like this. Especially like this."
Ari didn't answer. Not in words.
But I felt his chest rise, just enough to press into my palm.
Behind me, Bara exhaled in a way that wasn't quite a word.
"Holy fuck."
She sounded like a soldier who'd just realized the gun was aimed the other way. Volmira stood beside her, arms crossed, still bleeding from her ribs, watching her brother with eyes that held a different fear.
I turned.
"We leave for Tripolis within the cycle," I said.
Bara's eyes snapped to mine. "You want to march straight into Millennia?"
"I want to end this. I want to stop running. And I want him"—I nodded toward Ari—"in the sky above me when we do."
"What about Las?" Volmira asked.
The brother who couldn't exactly decide what to do, the one with the power to alter emotions. Would his power work on its creator?
Edward stepped forward. "You've got what you need now," he said.
I straightened. "What do you mean?"
He pointed to Bonnie.
"The heart of a dragon. That's what you promised me. That's what I need to wake Neptune."
I took a step forward.
So did he.
"I held up my end, Mila. I stayed. I bled. You said we'd trade."
"She's a child."
"She's a miracle."
"She's—"
"She's mine."
The voice cut through the camp.
Every head turned.
Bonnie stepped through the edge of the tents like a storm coming home. Her coat was soaked in salt and wind, her red hair wild around her shoulders. Salacia moved behind her, silent and radiant, sand still clinging to her legs like foam. "No one touches that dragon," she said.
The camp held its breath.
"She is not your payment. She is not a weapon. She is not a symbol."
Bonnie stepped closer.
"She is my daughter."
****
"She's your what?"
Bara's voice broke the silence like a dropped blade.
"My daughter," Bonnie repeated. Calm. Measured. Unshakable. "She is my daughter."
The camp erupted.
Voices overlapped. Volmira whispered a curse. Las, still pale and bandaged, stood so sharply his chair toppled. Ari stirred beside me—golden eyes half-open, still not fully returned to himself. Even the baby dragon shifted, letting out a soft, questioning chirp.
Bonnie raised one hand. Salacia stepped forward beside her, and the wind obeyed. The fire dimmed. The voices faded.
"It's time," Salacia said, her voice strange—resonant. Oceanic. "We should remove it."
I didn't know what she meant until I saw the shimmer at Bonnie's throat. A tiny glint—like metal submerged in skin. Barely visible unless you were looking.
The Orlionic Collar.
Disguised by Neptune's magic. Hidden under wards no mortal could break. Bonnie bowed her head. Salacia placed both hands near her neck, fingers glowing with sea-light and grief.
Magic moved. It wasn't bright—it wasn't even violent. But it was ancient. And it hurt. Bonnie gasped as light tore across her collarbone. The metal peeled from her skin like an old scar unmaking itself. It clattered to the dirt with a sound that didn't echo—but reverberated. Like a gong struck underwater.
It looked nothing like I expected.
Not a chain.
A circle. Intricate. Black-glass filament woven around a hollow core. It pulsed once—sickly. Like it missed the neck it had clung to for centuries.
"This is what he wants," Bonnie said, her voice ragged. "He wants control. This thing—the prototype. The last functioning one. I kept it hidden in plain sight."
I stepped toward her.
"Well, he can't put it on Ari anymore."
Bonnie looked at me.
And then, slowly, she smiled.
"No," she said. "He can't."
Edward had been quiet all this time, but now he stepped forward. And the look on his face—
It was the look of a man who had just realized he'd been friends with a myth.
"You lied to me," he said.
Bonnie turned.
"No," she said gently.
His mouth tightened.
"You were my first mate," he said. "I trusted you, Bonnie - Sibelle."
He turned from the camp, face like thunder, and ran.
Not out of rage.
Out of heartbreak.
Bonnie hesitated only a second. Then followed.
****
She found him in the woods just past the last perimeter light, half-slumped against a tree.
"I loved you," he said without turning. "As much as a broken man can love his dearest friend."
"I know."
"You let me believe you were human."
"I was trying to be."
He turned then. Eyes red. "And what are you really?"
"A relic," she said. "A system error. A broken woman dressed up in ancient tech and pretty names."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make yourself small to excuse the damage."
Bonnie looked up at the sky, stars tangled in cloud.
"I was never meant to last this long. It was Neptune, you know. He pitied me. Said I could still serve a purpose. Said I could become something else. So he remade me. As a Nereid. A water-spirit. Immortal only because I couldn't bear to die before my husband did."
Edward pressed a hand to his chest like it hurt to breathe.
"You let me plan. You let me hope. You let me ask for her heart."
"She's not a symbol, Edward. She's not a cure. She's my daughter."
He looked at her like the world had cracked.
"And what am I?"
She smiled sadly. "The first man who ever made me want to live again."
Silence.
"Then why not help me?"
"Because you cannot sacrifice my daughter to bring your love back."
"You think I could?" he said, devastated. "I could never hurt anything that has your blood, Bon-Sibelle."
She tucked herself close to him, crying over spilled milk of their lives.
"Dragons are created," Edward said. "After a lifetime of selfishness … All I want is to bring him back."
Edward kissed the crown of her head. "There is enough grief in me to power another dragon."
Bonnie looked at him, horrified, mouth open, wanting to protest but unable to find the right words.
"You will ride to battle with Mila. You will burn your husband. And then, when you have won back your freedom, you will rip out my heart and bring back the one who saved both of us from eternal unhappiness."
****
I felt her before I saw her.
The wind changed. The camp went still. Even the birds stopped mid-cry. Then the shadows bent and a low thrum passed through the ground like a giant's breath.
She circled above us.
A dragon—not Ari. Not mine. Sleeker. Lighter. Silver-glass scales that caught the moonlight like the surface of a shattered star. And on its back, riding bare-shouldered and wild-eyed, was Bonnie.
I turned to Ari. His wings flexed. His neck craned. I could feel his pulse even in the air around him. He was ready.
"Take me up," I whispered.
I climbed his shoulder, his wing, and settled between the base of his wings. I felt him crouch, felt the earth groan beneath him, and then …
He leapt.
The night sky rushed towards me. Wind tore at my face. The camp dropped away. I held fast, gripping the golden spike between his shoulders. Ari surged upward, higher, higher, and Bonnie—on the back of her dragon—tilted toward us in greeting.
We flew together.
For just a moment.
And then we descended, gliding low to a narrow ridge in the forested mountains of Aazor. A ledge wide enough for giants, hidden in mists that carried the salt of the Ijun sea. The dragons landed in sync, heads dipping toward one another like dogs sniffing at a long-lost sibling.
I slid off Ari's back and dropped onto the moss.
Bonnie dismounted right after me. "I thought you weren't coming back," I said.
"I didn't know I could," she replied. "But grief has a way of rewiring your instincts."
We stood in silence for a moment, watching the dragons. They moved slowly, snouts brushing, exhaling in clouds of heat and soft sound.
"Look at them, getting along," I murmured.
"They always did," Bonnie said. "Your brother - I'm sorry - Areilycus has a good heart. He did not deserve this fate."
"But now he has a dragon heart inside him," Mila petted him, scooting closer. "And he cannot die."
"But you and he … You'll be separated forever. My daughter has spent four millennia in scales already. It cannot be reversed."
I buried my face into Ari's wing. "What about Edward? Did he deserve this?"
Bonnie's eyes met mine, sharp and glowing. "No. He made a sacrifice."
"So did Ari."
I smiled.
But then the thought hit me.
"And who's going to ride Edward into battle?"
Her expression faltered just for a second.
"Because last I checked," I continued, "you're a water spirit now. You can't cross realms as stardust. You can't die to become fire."
"That's easy," Bonnie whispered. "Salacia is going to drown me."
****
The tide was out.
Not far—just enough for the Ijun's bones to show. Jagged rocks, half-swallowed crabs, the brittle remains of a fisher god's shrine. The ocean, like everything else, was waiting.
Bonnie stood at the edge of it. The waves lapped at her ankles, cold and familiar. Her dragon lay behind her, curled in the sand like a question no one wanted answered.
He disapproved.
Salacia stood opposite her, waist-deep in the water, her hair braided with kelp and bone, her eyes no longer kind. She had painted her arms with ink from the deep trenches. Her skin glowed faintly, like the underbellies of leviathans.
"There's still time to stop," Salacia said.
Bonnie shook her head.
"No, there isn't."
Salacia reached into the water and retrieved a bowl made of cut coral and glass. In it: tidewater, fragments of ice, a single flake of metal scraped from Bonnie's collar—the last anchor to her immortality.
"This will hurt," Salacia said.
Bonnie stepped into the water.
Every motion felt like memory unspooling in reverse. The sea licked at her knees, her hips, her chest. It welcomed her like an old mother. But it would not let her go gently.
"Speak the name he gave you," Salacia said.
Bonnie closed her eyes.
She hadn't said it in centuries. Not aloud. Not even in dreams.
"Sibelle Orlion. Immortal consort of the Assigner. Vessel of Order. Last spark of the Architect's breath."
The sky cracked.
Salacia lifted the bowl and poured it slowly over Bonnie's head.
The water hissed against her skin.
The ocean screamed.
Something inside Bonnie tore.
She fell forward with a cry, catching herself on hands that were already dissolving—light under skin, metal under blood. Her ribs lit up with pain, as if every atom of Neptune's mercy was being peeled away like wax.
"I can't—" she gasped.
"You can," Salacia said, voice unyielding.
The sea surged higher. The waves climbed her shoulders now, foaming, swallowing.
Bonnie cried out again as her spine twisted—not breaking, but reverting. The molecular shape of her divinity rewritten. Her water spirit form crumbled. Her immortal body—the one Theron made, the one she buried—clawed its way back through her.
The bones of her neck re-forged.
Her breath returned sharp and golden.
Her skin shimmered like pearl—no longer mortal, no longer sea.
She rose.
Naked, ageless, and terrible.
She opened her mouth and spoke her first words in her true voice:
"I will burn him from the inside out."
Salacia lowered her head.
And far above, the dragons roared.