Elara's POV
"I asked you a question, dragon." The magister's voice was ice-cold. "Why is this girl glowing?"
My whole body trembled. The silver light on my hands was fading, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
Drakarion didn't move from his position in front of me. "She tried to heal one of my wounds. Foolish human sentiment. Her weak magic reacted badly to the dark enchantment you placed on me. Nothing more."
The lead magister stepped closer. Through his mask, I could see his eyes narrow with suspicion. "Weak magic doesn't glow, dragon. And it certainly doesn't crack ancient chains."
My heart stopped. They'd seen it. They'd seen the chains crack when I touched Drakarion.
"The chains are three hundred years old," Drakarion said smoothly. His voice was bored, almost lazy. "They crack sometimes. Happens every few decades. Nothing to concern yourself with."
"Liar." The magister raised his hand, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Invisible fingers wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground. "What is she? What are you hiding?"
"Nothing!" I choked out, clawing at my throat even though there was nothing physical there. Just magic. Cruel, crushing magic. "I'm just—just a healer—please—"
"Let her go." Drakarion's voice dropped to a growl that made the cavern shake. "Now."
"Or what?" The magister laughed. "You'll kill me? You're chained, beast. Powerless. You'll watch me squeeze the life from this girl, and you'll do nothing because you can't."
Black spots danced in my vision. My lungs screamed for air. This was it. I was going to die here, in this volcanic prison, accused of being something I didn't even understand.
Then Drakarion did something I didn't expect.
He knelt.
The Last Flame. The World-Ender. The dragon who'd burned cities to ash—he dropped to his knees in front of the magister.
"Please," Drakarion said quietly. "She's innocent. Just a broken girl sent here to die. She means nothing. She is nothing. Let her live, and I'll cooperate with today's harvest without resistance."
The cavern went silent except for my desperate gasps for air.
The magister studied Drakarion for a long moment. Then, slowly, he released me.
I collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping, my throat burning.
"How interesting," the magister purred. "The monster has developed a soft spot. How long has it been since you cared whether a human lived or died, dragon? Two centuries? Three?"
Drakarion's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"Very well." The magister gestured to his companions. "Proceed with the harvest. And as for you, girl—" His cold eyes fixed on me. "Count yourself lucky. The dragon just saved your worthless life. Try not to waste his mercy."
The other magisters moved forward with cruel efficiency. They pulled out long, wicked knives that glowed with dark magic. One of them grabbed Drakarion's arm, pressing the blade against the scales of his wrist.
"Wait," I gasped, still struggling to breathe. "What are you doing?"
"Harvesting," the magister said simply. Then he cut.
Drakarion's blood flowed—not red, but gold like liquid fire. It dripped into collection vials that the magisters held with greedy hands. But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was Drakarion's face. He stood perfectly still, chains rattling slightly, while they cut him again and again. His expression was blank. Empty. Like he'd learned long ago that showing pain only made them hurt him more.
But I could feel it.
Through whatever connection had formed between us when I touched his wound, I felt his agony like it was my own. Every cut. Every drop of stolen blood. Every humiliating moment of helplessness.
Tears streamed down my face. "Stop. Please stop hurting him."
"Hurting?" The lead magister laughed. "This is business, girl. Dragon blood powers the empire. It makes our soldiers stronger. Our magic more potent. This beast exists for one purpose—to serve humanity whether he wants to or not."
"He's not a beast," I whispered. "He's—"
"Careful." Drakarion's voice was low, warning. Through our strange connection, I felt his message clearly: Don't defend me. Don't make them look closer at you. Survive.
So I bit my tongue and watched in helpless rage while they tortured him.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, they finished. The magisters sealed their vials of golden blood and turned to leave.
The leader paused at the door. "Oh, I almost forgot." He pulled out a rolled piece of parchment and tossed it at my feet. "This arrived for you today. Thought you might want to read it before you die."
Then they were gone, and the iron door clanged shut behind them.
I scrambled for the parchment with shaking hands. Unrolled it. Read the official seal at the top.
Imperial Court of Justice
My stomach dropped.
"What is it?" Drakarion asked. He'd slumped against the wall, looking pale and exhausted from the harvest.
"A summons." My voice shook. "To a public trial. Tomorrow at noon in the Capital Square."
"For what crime?"
I kept reading, each word worse than the last. "Theft of family jewels. Assault on Cassia Veylin. Conspiracy to murder Captain Theron Ashford." My hands trembled so hard the parchment rustled. "They're adding more charges. Saying I planned to kill Theron and steal my family's fortune."
"That's absurd."
"It doesn't matter." I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. "The trial is just for show. They've already decided I'm guilty. The sentence is listed right here at the bottom." I could barely force the words out. "Public execution. Three days after the trial."
Drakarion pushed away from the wall despite his obvious exhaustion. "They can't execute you. You're already sentenced to keeper duty here."
"Apparently they can." I laughed bitterly. "Keeper duty was supposed to kill me within a week. Since I've survived five days, they're taking matters into their own hands." I crumpled the parchment in my fist. "Cassia and Theron must have pushed for this. Made me too dangerous to leave alive even in prison."
"Then don't go." Drakarion moved closer. "Refuse the summons. Stay here."
"And what? Live in this cave forever?" I shook my head. "They'll just come drag me out. Or worse—they'll send the magisters to kill me here where no one can witness it."
We stood in heavy silence. The only sound was the distant drip of water and the crackle of volcanic fire.
"There has to be a way," Drakarion said finally. "Your magic—if we could unlock it fully, if you could break my chains—"
"We don't have time." I looked at the parchment again. "The trial is tomorrow. Even if I could somehow learn to use this Lifeweaver magic, even if I could free you, what then? We'd be fugitives. The whole empire would hunt us."
"Let them hunt." His golden eyes blazed. "I've been chained for three hundred years, Elara. If you can free me, I'll reduce this empire to ash. I'll make them pay for every drop of blood they've stolen. Every moment of torture. Every—"
"And I'll still be dead." I cut him off quietly. "Because the trial is tomorrow, and I don't even know how to access this magic you say I have."
Drakarion's expression shifted to something almost like pain. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For being useless." He gestured at his chains with bitter anger. "For kneeling to those parasites. For failing to protect you the way you tried to protect me."
Something in my chest cracked. This ancient, powerful dragon was apologizing to me. The girl everyone called worthless.
"You saved my life," I said softly. "When that magister was choking me, you begged for my life. You—the World-Ender—you begged."
"I would do worse than beg to keep you alive." His voice was rough with emotion I didn't understand. "You're the first person in three centuries to treat me like I'm more than a monster. The first to show me kindness. I won't let them kill you, Elara. I refuse."
"You might not have a choice."
"Then we make one." He grabbed my shoulders gently despite his weakness. "Listen to me. Tomorrow, when they take you to that trial, I want you to do something."
"What?"
"Tell them the truth." His golden eyes locked onto mine with fierce intensity. "Tell them you're a Lifeweaver. Tell them you can break dragon chains. Tell them you've awakened forbidden magic."
I stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "That's suicide! They'll kill me instantly!"
"Maybe." A dangerous smile curved his lips. "Or maybe—just maybe—they'll be so terrified of what you represent that they'll make a mistake. Get careless. Show their hand." He leaned closer. "Fear makes people stupid, Elara. And the empire fears Lifeweavers more than anything else in this world. Use that fear."
"But I don't even know how to use this power!"
"You don't have to." His smile widened. "You just have to make them think you can. Make them believe you're dangerous. Make them so afraid of what you might become that they panic."
"And then what?"
"And then," Drakarion said softly, "they'll bring you back here. To me. To make sure the Lifeweaver is contained. To make sure the dragon she's bonded with stays under control." His eyes gleamed with something fierce and wild. "And when they do, we'll be ready."
A knock sounded at the iron door. Three sharp raps.
We both froze.
"Elara Veylin!" a guard shouted from outside. "By order of the Imperial Court, you are to be transported to the Capital immediately for trial preparation. Gather your belongings. You leave in five minutes."
My blood turned to ice. "They're taking me now? The trial's not until tomorrow!"
"Trial preparation," Drakarion repeated, his face going pale. "That's code for interrogation. They're going to torture you for information about your magic before the trial even starts."
The door began to unlock. Keys jangling. Multiple guards arguing about who had to enter the dragon's lair.
Drakarion grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him. "Remember what I told you. Make them fear you. Make them panic. And whatever happens—" His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "—survive. Do you hear me? Survive and come back to me."
"Why?" I asked, tears streaming down my face. "Why do you care if I live or die?"
His answer was barely audible over the sound of the opening door:
"Because you made me feel human again. And I'm not ready to lose that yet."
The door burst open. Six armed guards stormed in, weapons drawn.
"Elara Veylin, you're coming with us. Now."
They grabbed my arms, dragging me toward the door. I looked back at Drakarion one last time. He stood in his chains, golden eyes blazing with barely contained rage, looking every inch the dragon the empire feared.
But his last words to me were soft. Gentle. Almost tender:
"Come back to me, little Lifeweaver. Come back, and I swear on my last breath—I'll teach you to burn the world down."
Then the iron door slammed shut between us, and I was alone with the guards who would deliver me to my torturers.
The girl they'd called weak was about to discover just how strong she could be.
Or die trying.