The person who entered through those grand double doors was Katherine—someone I recognized immediately despite my disorientation. Gautham had opened the door for her with practiced courtesy. Katherine was carrying a wooden tray laden with a ceramic basin filled with water and neatly folded towels, clearly prepared to attend to me, to perform whatever caretaking duties she had been maintaining during my long unconsciousness.
But neither of them had noticed that I was awake yet. Katherine moved with the automatic efficiency of someone who had performed this same task countless times over recent months, setting the tray down carefully on the polished table positioned near the huge oak doors. She let out a long, weary sigh—the sound of someone who had been carrying a heavy burden for far too long without relief. Then she turned around, presumably to approach the bed and begin her ministrations.
And she gasped, the sound sharp with shock.
Her eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth as she froze completely, staring at me as though I were an apparition that might vanish if she looked away.
"Hello, Katherine," I said softly, offering her a gentle smile despite my own lingering weakness.
For a moment, she simply stood there, completely motionless except for the trembling that had begun in her hands. Then her eyes rapidly filled with tears that immediately began overflowing, streaming down her cheeks in wet tracks that caught the golden evening light.
"Come here," I said gently, opening my arms in invitation.
I didn't have to repeat the offer. Katherine practically launched herself across the room, crossing the distance between us in what seemed like a single bound. She jumped into my embrace with enough force that it should have been painful, hugging me tightly with desperate intensity, and began crying with the kind of heartfelt, unrestrained emotion that comes from months of accumulated fear and grief finally being released.
Gautham took a moment to fully register the scene unfolding before him—his mind clearly needing several seconds to process that I was actually conscious and speaking. Then understanding dawned on his features, and he immediately withdrew from the room with remarkable speed, pulling the heavy door closed behind him to give us privacy.
But my enhanced hearing—one of the many gifts or curses of my ongoing transformation—allowed me to clearly hear his excited words echoing through the corridors beyond those thick walls and doors: "The queen is awake! Someone get word to His Majesty immediately! Hurry!"
But I forced myself to let my attention return to the crying friend in my arms, to focus on comforting her rather than worrying about what would come next. Katherine was clinging to me as though I might disappear if she loosened her grip even slightly.
"Don't cry," I murmured soothingly, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. "I'm alright now. I'm here. Please don't cry."
But my attempt at consolation only seemed to make her cry harder, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. Her arms tightened around my waist in a grip that was almost painful.
"I thought, I thought you were—" she tried to say between gasping sobs, her words coming out incoherent and broken. She couldn't seem to complete the sentence, couldn't bring herself to voice the terrible thing she had believed for so long.
I simply held her, one hand patting her back in a steady, rhythmic pattern while the other rubbed soothing circles across her shoulders. I let her cry without trying to stop the flow of tears, understanding that she needed this release, that these tears had been building for months and needed to be shed.
"His Majesty brought you back from Draga in his own arms," Katherine finally managed to say with more coherence, though her voice was still thick with emotion. "You were so pale, so still,You weren't breathing properly. I thought—I truly thought you were already dead. That we had lost you forever."
The image she painted made my heart ache. I could picture it too clearly—Arvid carrying my broken body, refusing to let anyone else touch me, making that desperate journey from Gorei to wherever he believed I might have a chance of survival.
"I'm sorry," I told her sincerely, continuing to stroke her hair. "I'm so sorry I frightened you all like this. I promise—I swear to you—I will never scare you like this again. Never."
Katherine looked up at me with her tear-stained face, her eyes red and puffy from crying but also filled with something that looked like relief and joy mixed together. Then she said something in a voice barely above a whisper, words so quiet I almost didn't catch them despite my enhanced hearing.
My eyes widened as those words registered, as I fully processed what she had just confessed. The implications were significant, the trust she was showing in sharing this with me was profound. I opened my mouth to respond, to acknowledge what she had told me—
But then the doors burst open with a loud, resounding bang that made both of us jump slightly. Arvid came striding in, moving with urgent purpose, his eyes immediately seeking me out and locking onto my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
Katherine immediately released me and stood up, moving discreetly to the side of the room to give us space. She understood without being told that this moment belonged to Arvid and me, that he needed this reunion perhaps even more than she had.
I looked at my mate, really looked at him for the first time in what must have been months. His eyes were tired—no, exhausted, with dark circles beneath them that spoke of countless sleepless nights. Deep lines of worry and stress had etched themselves around his mouth and across his forehead. He didn't look like he had been resting properly or taking adequate care of himself. The realization made my chest tighten with a mixture of love and guilt.
But when our eyes met, I smiled at him. I couldn't help it. Despite everything—despite the pain and trauma and uncertainty—seeing him filled me with a warmth that pushed back against all the darkness.
He trudged toward the bed as though his legs were made of lead, as though he was using the last reserves of his strength just to cross the room. And then he simply fell into my embrace, his considerable weight settling against me as he buried his face against my shoulder.
"I missed you," he mumbled, his voice muffled against my skin but carrying such profound emotion that it made tears spring to my own eyes. "I missed you so much. Every day. Every hour. I thought—I was terrified that—"
He couldn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. I understood completely. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as tightly as I could manage with my still-recovering strength.
"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
We remained like that for a long time, simply holding each other, both of us silently reassuring ourselves that this was real, that we had both survived, that we had been given another chance. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need words. The embrace said everything that needed to be said.
Katherine had quietly slipped from the room at some point, giving us complete privacy for this reunion. I was vaguely aware of her departure but didn't turn to acknowledge it, too focused on the man in my arms.
---
Eventually, after what might have been minutes or hours—time having lost its meaning again, though in a much more pleasant way than during my unconsciousness—we reluctantly pulled apart enough to look at each other properly. Arvid's eyes were wet with unshed tears, and I suspected mine were the same.
"Where are we?" I asked, looking around the unfamiliar room once more. "This isn't Gorei or Draga. The architecture is completely different, and the climate..."
"This is Kima Kingdom," Arvid explained, settling himself more comfortably beside me on the massive bed, one arm remaining wrapped protectively around my waist as though he feared I might vanish if he stopped touching me. "Or as some call it, the God's Kingdom. It's technically an independent realm, but it functions as a vessel state of the Selon Empire now, paying regular taxes and tribute in exchange for protection and trade agreements."
He paused, clearly organizing his thoughts to give me a comprehensive explanation.
"It's a southern kingdom—much warmer than what you're accustomed to in Draga or what we experienced in Gorei. The climate here remains mild and pleasant year-round, never too hot or too cold. The land is remarkably fertile, blessed with abundant harvests even though the kingdom itself is relatively small in terms of territory. The people here thrive despite their size because of that agricultural wealth."
"What makes it the 'God's Kingdom'?" I asked, intrigued despite my lingering exhaustion.
"They're monotheistic," Arvid explained. "They believe in one god—a deity they call Ror. Their religion and their system of governance are so intricately intertwined that it's nearly impossible to separate one from the other. The queen of Kima is simultaneously the ruling monarch and the saintess of their faith—a spiritual leader as much as a political one. Though in practice, she holds relatively little actual power. She's more of an icon, a symbol of divine favor and blessing. The real authority rests with the priesthood."
He gestured vaguely, as though trying to illustrate the complex structure he was describing.
"The entire ministry is staffed by priests. The high priest serves as the equivalent of a prime minister, wielding significant political power alongside his religious authority. There's a single great temple dedicated to Ror—just one, located in the capital city of Auga, where we are now. Every believer in the kingdom makes a pilgrimage to this temple weekly to pay their respects and offer prayers. It's quite remarkable, actually. The temple is enormous, capable of accommodating thousands of worshippers simultaneously."
I absorbed this information, trying to reconcile it with my own understanding of religion and governance. Draga's approach to faith had been much more personal and less institutionalized. This level of theocratic structure was fascinating and somewhat alien to me.
"How long was I unconscious?" I asked, though part of me dreaded the answer.
"Four months total," Arvid said quietly. "Just as Rulha promised. We remained in Gorei for the first two months after bringing you back from Draga. I wanted to begin traveling south immediately, but the winter weather made such a journey too dangerous. The roads were impassable, and I refused to risk further harm to you by attempting travel in those conditions."
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly as he recalled those difficult months.
"When spring finally arrived and the weather improved enough to make travel feasible, we set out for Kima as quickly as possible. I insisted we come here specifically because I believed the warm climate would be better for your recovery. Cold can inhibit healing, and I wanted to give you every possible advantage. The journey itself took approximately two weeks—we moved as quickly as we safely could while ensuring you remained stable and comfortable throughout."
Two weeks of travel while I lay unconscious, completely unaware of the effort being expended on my behalf. The thought humbled me.
"How did things end in Draga?" I asked, dreading the answer but needing to know. "After everything that happened... what did you do?"
Arvid's expression darkened immediately, his features hardening with an anger I had rarely seen from him. He lifted his head from where it had been resting against my shoulder, turning to look directly at me so I could see the fury still burning in his eyes months later.
"Not pleasantly," he said, his voice tight with controlled rage. "Not pleasantly at all."
He took a breath, clearly trying to moderate his tone so he wouldn't upset me, but the anger seeped through anyway.
"I addressed the assembled nobility and leadership of Draga. I told them exactly what you had done for them—how you had nearly died to save their ungrateful lives. And do you know how they responded? They insisted that I kill you. They claimed you were becoming a monster, that you posed a danger to everyone, that allowing you to live would result in catastrophe. They demanded your execution as though they had any right to make such demands, as though your life was theirs to dispose of."
His hand clenched into a fist where it rested against the blanket.
"I told them that a true monster wouldn't have shed her own blood to cure them. A monster wouldn't have risked everything to save people who clearly didn't deserve such sacrifice. I told them they had forfeited any right to see you ever again, that you would never return to Draga as long as I drew breath. And I meant every word."
The finality in his voice made it clear this wasn't a position he would ever reconsider, regardless of circumstances or political pressure.
"How did you know?" I asked carefully. "About the blood I shed, I mean. How did you discover what the ritual required?"
"Sara told me," Arvid said. "She was the first person to find you after... after the attack. She saw the wounds, saw how much blood you had lost both from the stabbing and from what you had voluntarily shed for the cure. She used her healing magic almost immediately, pouring everything she had into trying to stabilize you. But you weren't responding the way you should have been. The wounds weren't closing properly, and you were fading despite her efforts."
He swallowed hard, clearly reliving those terrible moments.
"She ran to find me in a complete panic. Together we brought in an elderly priest from the Mountain Serana Temple—a man who has dedicated his entire life to the worship of Rulha, who knows more about dragon lore than perhaps anyone alive. He was the one who examined you and identified what you had been stabbed with: a dagger embedded with dragon flame, forged in an age when such things were possible. He told us that wounds inflicted by such weapons cannot be cured through conventional means. Only a miracle could save you."
"So you prayed to Rulha," I said softly, reaching up to cup his face with one hand. The gesture clearly meant a great deal to him—that he had set aside his lifelong skepticism and humbled himself before a god he didn't believe in, all for my sake.
He nodded, leaning into my touch and pressing a small, tender kiss against my cheek. Then he settled himself back down, resting his head on my arm and staring up at the ceiling as though seeing something in his memory rather than the physical space above us.
"I've never told you this before," he began, his voice taking on a contemplative quality, "but I don't believe in gods. I never have. I was raised studying the philosophy of Tarhan Gunasera—you've read his works, so you understand what I mean. He teaches that you are your own god, that divinity resides within each individual rather than in some distant, unknowable entity. That your will and determination and choices shape reality more than any prayer or ritual ever could. And I believed in that philosophy completely. It never failed me before. It guided me through every challenge I faced."
He paused, and I could feel the tension in his body as he continued.
"But that day, kneeling beside you while you lay dying, I felt utterly, completely helpless for the first time in my life. No matter what I did, no matter what resources I marshaled or how many healers I summoned, you kept fading away. Your life was slipping through my fingers like water, and all my strength and authority and determination meant nothing. I was powerless."
His voice cracked slightly on that last word.
"So I thought, why not? What did I have to lose? I went to that temple, and I kneeled before that statue of Rulha, and I prayed with every fiber of my being. I begged for your life. I offered anything—everything—if he would just let you live."
He turned toward me then, his eyes wide with something that looked like wonder mixed with residual disbelief.
"And he answered, Rhia. The god actually spoke to me. I heard his voice as clearly as I hear yours now. He said you would wake in four moons, that I needed to be patient and trust that you would recover. And I listened to every word, followed every instruction precisely."
The awe in his voice was unmistakable. For someone who had never believed in divine intervention, who had built his entire worldview on the philosophy of self-determination, having a god speak directly to him must have been profoundly disorienting.
"Should I build a shrine for him in Arpa?" he asked, the question emerging with genuine seriousness. "To honor what he did, to show proper gratitude for the miracle he granted?"
"You don't have to," I answered gently, remembering my own conversation with the arrogant ancestral god. "Rulha isn't doing any of this out of benevolence or compassion. He told me himself that he's acting primarily for his own amusement. He wants to see what happens when dragons return to the world, wants to watch how humans will react and adapt. We're entertainment to him, pieces in a game he's playing for his own enjoyment."
Arvid considered this for a moment, then shook his head stubbornly.
"I don't care about his motivations," he said firmly. "Whatever his reasons, whatever amusement he's deriving from this situation, the fact remains that he saved you when you should have died. For that alone, he deserves recognition and thanks. I think I should build that shrine anyway, if only to acknowledge that debt. If it weren't for his mercy—regardless of why he showed it—you wouldn't be here with me now."
He cuddled closer to me, and I felt him beginning to relax for the first time since entering the room. The tension that had been holding him rigid was finally easing as the reality of my recovery truly sank in.
We fell into a comfortable silence, simply existing together, both of us processing everything that had happened and everything that had changed. But as we lay there, I remembered someone else who was equally important, someone whose absence I had felt acutely since waking.
I needed to find her, to ensure she was alright.
So I let my eyes close and turned my attention inward, searching for that familiar presence that had become such an integral part of my existence.
*Aiona,* I called mentally, reaching out through whatever connection bound us together.
There was no immediate answer, but I could feel her through me—a pull, a gentle tugging sensation drawing me toward her domain. So I followed that pull, allowing my consciousness to drift away from the physical world and toward that internal space where we could meet.
---
When I arrived in her domain, I was stunned by what I found.
Everything had changed. The scenery bore only passing resemblance to what I remembered from my previous visits. Her domain had expanded dramatically—it was now far, far bigger than it had been before. What had once been a relatively contained space of golden rice fields and endless blue sky had transformed into something much more complex and vast.
The golden rice fields remained, but they were now bordered by an extensive forest of trees unlike any I had seen in the physical world. These trees had bark as white as fresh snow, contrasting strikingly with leaves of deep, vibrant red—the color of fresh blood or sunset clouds. The effect was absolutely breathtaking, otherworldly in its beauty. The forest stretched as far as I could see in certain directions, creating the impression of infinite space.
And there, overlooking this impossible forest, was a gentle waterfall—water cascading down rock formations that seemed to have existed since the beginning of time. The sound of falling water created a soothing background rhythm, peaceful and eternal.
Then recognition hit me like a physical blow. I had seen this before. This was what Rulha's domain had looked like—that ancient, prehistoric vista he had shown me from his cliff edge. The white-barked trees with red leaves, the sense of timelessness and age, the quality of light that suggested this place existed outside normal reality.
Why was it here? How was it here? It seemed as though the two domains—Aiona's and Rulha's—had somehow merged or at least influenced each other, blending together in ways I didn't fully understand.
"Do you like the view?" a familiar voice asked from behind me, carrying that distinctive mixture of pride and amusement I had come to know so well.
I turned, a smile already forming on my lips, ready to embrace the dragon who had become so much more than just a presence in my mind—who had become my companion, my teacher, my friend, and perhaps something even deeper than that.
A part of myself.