Chapter 23 — The Dream That Wasn't Hers
Lyra slept beneath the stars that night.
The Dragon King had brought her a blanket woven from sky-thread, soft and shimmering, and placed it gently over her shoulders as she curled beside the Heartwell pool. She had fallen asleep with her hand still resting in his.
He didn't move.
He watched her breathe.
And slowly, the glow beneath her skin began to pulse — not with magic, but with memory.
---
She dreamed.
But it wasn't her dream.
She stood in a field of ash, the sky dark and trembling. A boy knelt beside a broken wing, tears streaking his cheeks. He wasn't a king yet. He wasn't even a dragon. Just a child who had lost something sacred.
Lyra stepped closer.
He didn't see her.
But she felt him — the ache in his chest, the guilt in his hands, the way he whispered, "I should have protected her."
The dream shifted.
Now he stood before a throne, fire swirling behind him. His eyes glowed gold, but his heart was quiet. Too quiet. He looked at the crown as if it were a chain.
Lyra reached out.
Touched his shoulder.
And for a moment, he turned.
Not in anger.
In longing.
---
She woke with tears on her cheeks.
The Dragon King was still beside her, his hand warm in hers.
She looked at him — really looked — and whispered, "I saw you."
He didn't ask how.
He didn't question.
He simply said, "Then you know."
Lyra nodded. "You were alone."
He closed his eyes. "I thought I had to be."
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
"You don't," she said. "Not anymore."
He wrapped his arms around her, gently, reverently.
And in that embrace, something ancient softened.
Not the curse.
The silence.
Because now, someone had seen him.
Not as a king.
Not as a dragon.
But as a boy who once knelt beside a broken wing.
And loved.