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Chapter Text

Sanctuary’s stone floor burned your skin with icy stings. Only a loose, beige, linen robe draped your body, held in place by a simple golden chain wrapped around your hips, little bells at the end of the chain drooping and clinking softly in your lap. You had been kneeling on the hard floor in prayer for so long your knees felt like they were sinking onto wooden stakes, every contact sending another shock of pain up your thighs. 

Your head was bent down, gaze locked to your clasped hands resting on your legs. Whispered prayers from the other acolytes were muttered beside you, bouncing and echoing around the cold room. Your neck screamed with agony. Gods you wished you could lift your head, drive a thumb into the back of your neck and kneed out the trapped nerve.

But you were only a couple of hours into morning devotion, and noon’s feast was still a way off. You weren’t going to draw the attention of the Priests who paced the room, ensuring their charges were obeying The Order of Justitia’s tenents. They were more irritable than usual, ready to pounce on any perceived blasphemies. Likely because of the acolyte this dawn — the poor boy, Mathias, was dragged from his bed by Justicars and you hadn’t seen him since. There was only one fate an acolyte met if they were taken by Justicars; to face the wrath of the Arbiter, and whatever punishment that ensued. For the last month your dorm mates had been gossiping Mathias was reading forbidden tomes on the Dragon Wars, so it was only a matter of time until the Justicars were alerted — if they hadn’t discovered his sins already. 

You were not so foolish. You wouldn’t jeopardise your devotion, your life’s purpose, your home, for something so idiotic like a forbidden tome on dragons. And you certainly wouldn’t induce the ire of your Priests for something so mundane as rubbing an ache in your neck, breaking your prayers.

Gods you wish you could though. It really fucking hurt, and burning sensations were starting run down from your neck and into your arm.
 

You scrunched your eyebrows together, clasping your hands harder, eyes clenched tighter. 

“This wretch offers thanks for your glorious morning, Gracious Justitia,” your muttered under your breath. 

“This wretch begs forgiveness for her impurities, Indomitable Justitia,” you recite a little louder, as the echoing steps of a Priest approach your bowed head.
 

“This wretch beseeches to be washed of sin, Oh Divine Justitia, so that her clean and empty vessel may serve you unburdened and untainted,” you finished the prayer. The Priest's shoes halted at your head, waiting for your mistake. You waited the necessary breaths, letting the mandated silence fill your mouth.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three.

Then you began your recital again. 

The Priests steps moved on, travelling down the line of acolytes.  You smirked, knowing you had bested the old grump for a day.

One-hundred-and-twenty-eight recitals.

Three-hundred-and-seventy-two to go.

Then you could finally rub your neck.

**********

“I heard Mathias is being sent to trial,” Diana said with hushed breathiness, glancing up from the stone feast table and checking the Priests’ table at the other side of the hall. 

You sat silently opposite her and some other dorm mates, keeping your own gaze locked on the plate of simple food before you. It was basic: only the higher ranks within the Order received more fulfulling and indulgent meals. A small bread roll, some cheese, sausages, and a little side-bowel of pumpkin soup to sip and dip bread in. You flicked your eyes over to the Priests’ table, a few Justicars sat sporadically amongst them, and sighed internally as you looked at their own plates.

They got double of everything. Large platters of fruits and fish, slabs of freshly-cooked sliced meat, doused in all kinds of gravy and sauces. The bread they received always seemed to be steaming and hot, as though it has just come out of the kitchens, whereas your bread rolls were tough, making your teeth ache as you chewed. Then they were provided a range of cheeses and wines, not meant for substance, but to be complimentary to the tastebuds. 

You broke your gaze and returned to your own plate, spearing a bit of cold sausage into your mouth, and rubbed the ache in your neck. 

Aaron, sitting beside Diana, gasped. “So the rumour was true? He was reading about the Dragon Wars?”

You shot Diana and Aaron a glare, though neither of them saw it. They were too enthralled in their gossiping. Fools, you thought. They’ll hear you.

Diana shrugged. “Don’t know, I certainly never saw him do it.”

You resisted the urge to snort, returning to picking at your food. Of course Diana wouldn’t admit to seeing Mathias read forbidden texts — saying she had would only get her own ass thrown in front of the Arbiter. 

“Neither did I,” Aaron agreed quickly. 

Too quickly.

You snuck a look at him, noticing the distinct red flush in his cheeks.

Interesting.

You had been stuck as an acolyte for all of your childhood, and you were now well into your adulthood. No matter how well you devoted your faith, no matter how well you excelled at swordsmanship and duelling, no matter how diligent you were in keeping Justitia’s tenents, the Priests still refused to ascend you to a higher rank. 

Maybe you just needed to push a little harder.

Maybe Aaron was the way to prove yourself. 

You placed your fork down with a loud clang against the plate, and tucked your fist under your chin, feigning deep thought. “Strange,” you said, feeling Diana and Aaron snap their attention to you. “Why would anyone bother reading such things these days? That war was so long ago, there aren’t any of those sinful creatures left anyway.” You shrugged, picking up your fork and popped a piece of cheese into your mouth. 

Blech. Dry.

“Well don’t tell anyone but,” Aaron said under his breath, a twin to Diana earlier as he snuck glances at the Priests’ table. “I’ve heard some of our superiors talking about … well …” he paused, eyes alight. The nervousness he felt earlier seemed to have disappeared, instead replacing a fierce pride in knowing something others evidently didn’t. “Something trapped in this place called the Abyss.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“The Abyss, Aaron?” Even Diana rolled her eyes. “Only children believe that fairytale. You should go to confession and beg forgiveness for your naivety,” she added, losing interest.
 

“I know what I heard,” Aaron hissed. “I was out with Ma—I was out taking a leak in the gardens when I overheard the Night Watch Priests.”

Diana seemed to have missed Aaron’s slip-up, too focused on finishing her meal, but you didn’t.

Oh, he knew what Mathias did.

And you didn’t think it was merely reading old forbidden history tomes either.

You feigned disinterest, wiping down your hands and gathering up your plates for washing. “Those old men barely remember what they did this morning, you can’t take them seriously outside of prayer-duties. Speaking of,” you stood up and prepared to leave, sneaking a glance at the Priests’ side. Thankfully they were still far too involved in their own food to overhear the outright-heresy that was on your side of the room.  “I’m late for tome-cataloging, see you at confessional later.” Diana and Aaron nodded as you took your leave, dropping off your dirty dishes to the kitchens and making your way down to Sanctuary’s library. 

The Abyss.

Maybe Mathias let his curiosity get the better of him, but what Aaron said was much more interesting than the Dragon Wars. The Dragon Wars existed. They happened a long time ago, and the Order of Justitia defeated dragon-kind. That was true and codified in the tenents. The Order simply didn’t like their acolytes digging into the old Dragon War texts because it was a dark period of history, and not appropriate for young initiates to learn until they had ascended in ranks and proved their devotion and faith. Only the ascended of Justitia were completely safe from the heresy of dragons, after all.  

You’d never heard any ascended member of the Order mention the Abyss, however. 

Aaron shouldn’t know this, you thought. I can find out more about this place and use him to finally ascend out of this blasted-acolyte rank. 

You ignored the little feeling in the back of your head.

The feeling of curiosity. 

Chapter Text

Cataloging old tomes for Sanctuary’s library was dull work. It was a dark and sombre space, only lit by sporadic candlelight, which made it difficult to actually read anything. At the same time, your body fought to stay awake, as the dim lighting and aching neck and muscles from morning prayer made you want to pass out from exhaustion, despite it still being high noon.
 

But you had a task. The library cataloger had given you a list of tomes to shift through: gathering requested items, returning others to their shelves, and marking pages for tutors to use in their future lessons. Boring. You’d much rather have been tasked with sparring, and you couldn’t help but feel being stuck in the library was a punishment for excelling. You walked over to the small window in the aisle you were stuck in and gazed outside. The sparring grounds were below, a small group of acolytes clustered together as they battled with flat swords. Most were clumsy and awkward, only a few showing legitimate skill. You’d still be able to beat them all. 

You sighed, letting your gaze wander over to the horizon. You spied a small cat trying to climb up Sanctuary’s sheer-white-stone walls. It wiggled its legs briefly, gathering its footing and strength, before launching itself up the wall, paws outreached for any purchase to clutch onto and use as a platform to bounce off and then reach the top.
 

It fell.

You flinched as it hit the ground. The creature landed on its feet, but the impact must have hurt. Still, it sat back on its haunches and looked up the wall, cocking its head as though it was studying how its next jump would be better.  

You and me both, kitty.

You ground your teeth. 

No Priest would deny your ascension. If you had to force their hand, then you would.

If there was one thing the library was good for, it was that the current caretaker was fond of you and left you to your own devices. 

Unsupervised.

You left the window and poked your head of out the aisle, checking to see if the caretaker was at her desk.
 

Gloriously empty.

You grabbed a candlestick, leaving one behind to feign your presence, and walked over to the restricted section, barricaded by iron bars and gate, locked together with a padlock. You fished out the keyring the caretaker had given you, quickly pulled out the restricted-key, unlocked the door and stepped through.

Truthfully, you had been in this section before. It was mostly a collection of historical tomes — probably how Mathias got a copy of whatever it was that got him in trouble — but also full of … uh … sinful … texts.

Texts you definitely hadn’t read. Repeatedly. Or marked down notable passages. 

But that wasn’t why you were here, the temptation to scan for your definitely-not-favourite tome aside. You flitted amongst the alphabetical order, wondering where to begin. You highly doubted ‘Abyss’ would be mentioned in a title, if such a thing truly was heresy to the Order. No … it would be veiled; different language, different words used in its place.

Abyss. Abyss. Abyss.

You turned the word over your mind, tasting and toying with it, as you walked up and down the aisles with soft footsteps, running your fingers over the spines of the texts on the shelves.

Abyss. A word to mean empty, bottomless, dark, and deep. Like a chasm or a pit.

Or a purgatory.

You felt something inside you perk up at that thought. Yes, purgatory, fit. And it was a word the Order would use. 

You did another quick walk over the aisle, scanning for any titles referring to the hells, or eternal punishments, or purgatories. Your eyes landed on one title that stood out. The Sacred Judicator and the Fiend: An Analysis of Purgatories and Seals. 

A smile crept at your lips. 

With a little mumbled “Yoink,” you pulled the tome off the shelf. You grimaced at the dust and dirt that had coated the text — clearly it hadn’t been opened in a very long time. Skimming the beginning, you began to think it hadn’t been opened because the author was horrifically dull, and your burst of victory was quickly falling into a pit of defeat. 

Nothing felt relevant. It was a book about kissing the Sacred Judicator’s ass for slaying the last dragon. You couldn’t care less about that. It happened over 1,600 years ago, and though the Order of Justitia loved to boast about the hero, you always thought he was a bit of a dickhead. 

You were about to sigh and close the tome until you saw the line: After the last Fiend was immobilised at the end of the Dragon Wars, the Sacred Judicator sealed it away in the purgatory known as the Abyss.

You froze.

… What?

You frowned. Maybe you misread it. You read the line again.

Nope. There it was, ink clear as the sun, despite the text’s age. 

Sealed it away.

That couldn’t be right. The histories said the Fiend was slain by the Sacred Judicator, which ended the Dragon Wars. But this book was saying it wasn’t killed at all but, instead, trapped in a purgatory called the Abyss.

Well.

It seems Aaron was onto something after all. 

Your frown deepened, and you closed the text with a soft thud. Aaron definitely shouldn’t have heard this information, but it seems like no one should know about it at all. All the histories you had been taught, what the acolytes had been taught, was a lie. Or at least a fantastical reimagining. 

You huffed. Perhaps you couldn’t use this information to ascend your rank at all, even if it was to throw Aaron at the mercy of the Justicars and Arbiter. The chances of you getting into trouble seemed to now be just as likely, if not inevitable.

You couldn’t help but feel annoyed. If this Fiend really was alive — if that was even possible — then it meant you had been lied to your entire life. Your whole faith was built on the Sacred Judicator saving humankind from the tyranny of dragons, and it was Justitia that gave him the power to slay the last of the sinful creatures. 

Was all your faith a lie? Had all that devotion been pointless? 

You grunted, veins burning hot. You went to return the book to its shelf … until you noticed a glint of light at the back.

You tilted your head, then reached down into the dark. Right at the back, tucked away between a bunch of other tomes, was what looked like … a lamp.

Curiosity bit you. You wrapped three fingers around the bottom handle and quietly slid it out of its hiding place. Your eyebrows rose. 

It was indeed a lamp. Made out of iron, but still retaining a subtle shine, and decorated with a little sleeping dragon at the bottom, its body and tail wrapped around the base. 

Well, this was unabashedly heretical. Having such a thing would get you in so much trouble, if anyone ever saw it. Gods, Mathias was supposedly being sent to trial just for reading a forbidden history book. That was nothing compared to owning a dragon-trinket. 

Yet the Order also seemed to have lied about how your faith came to existence, and how the Dragon Wars ended at all.

What else had they lied about?

Would they ever ascend you?
 

Would your faith ever be enough?

You felt your blood burn hot again, felt your cheeks and ears heat. You felt the ache in your neck, that burning from the trapped nerve flaring up again. You saw yourself in morning prayer this morning, reciting over and over and over and over and over and over, all with your body raging out in pain against you. 

You gripped the lamp tighter.

“This wretch doesn’t feel like begging for forgiveness, Oh Divine Justitia,” you muttered, and slid the lamp under your robes, clutching it tight to your chest. 

Chapter Text

You dreamt of a dank, dark place. Screams of otherworldly creatures howled and snarled and hissed all around you. It stank of blood and bile. 

You looked down at a body that was not yours. It was dirty, scraped, and scarred, but muscled and solid. The sound of metal chains clinking sent sharp pains in your ears, the iron biting into your bare chest. Your feet were blackened and scaled, and where there should be toes … they ended in talons. 

And at the centre of your chest — a man’s chest — was a massive hilt of a claymore. Lodged fully and squarely in the middle. 

You lurched from the chains that bound your body, your wrists, your wings. You hissed as the iron burned your skin and as you felt the claymore sink deeper into your heart. Of course it wasn’t possible for it to do, but it did it all the same.

I’ll shove this fucking thing so far down his throat it’ll split him down the middle, you thought.

They weren’t your thoughts though. They were someone else’s. 

Where were you? You hid your little lamp under your bed before you went to sleep in Sanctuary’s dorms. This was a dream … right? Why did this feel so real? 

The man cocked his head slightly, as though he heard something he didn’t expect. Show yourself.

You froze. Did he … sense you? How could he? 

A sudden snarl, full of saliva and venom, snapped his attention. The man you inhabited growled. Leave me alone.
 

The beast didn’t listen. It leapt from the darkness, a monster full of sharp pointed fangs, maw open and dripping, eyes blackened and rabid. The man simply recoiled his head back a bit, opened his mouth, and felt his throat burn as crimson-black fire left his open lips, completely melting the attacking creature’s head. 

With a grunt of pain and exhaustion, the man went limp, hissing again as the claymore tried to bury itself deeper into his chest.

All this because he got a lucky strike in, the man grumbled, before passing out. 

******************

You lurched awake with a gasp, eyelids flinging open, sweat sticky on your skin, breaths heavy and frantic. 

The familiar room of Sanctuary’s dorms filled your vision, the heavy scent of wool and incense filling your nostrils, grounding you back into your body. You closed your eyes and steadied your breaths. Safe. You were home, in your bed, and safe from whatever hellish hole you had been stuck in.
 

Gods, what a dream.

You groaned, stretching out your limbs and pushing the blankets off. Your dorm mates had already woken and dressed, leaving you alone. You stood up … then froze as the memory of what idiotic thing you did yesterday returned to you.

Fuck, what in the hells were you thinking? You ducked your head under your bed and pushed aside the boxes you used to hide the dragon lamp. 

Your blood turned to ice.

Gone.

It was gone.

Before you had a chance to think about where you possibly could have put it, the bedroom door burst open, and in poured four Justicars, armed and armoured, with chains dangling from their belts.

And Aaron standing behind them, a small grin at the corner of his lips. 

“It’s hers,” he said, pointing at you. “She kept asking about Mathias at noon’s feast yesterday, and then went missing for hours. When she finally turned up after curfew, I heard her shuffling things around under her bed.”

You scowled, eyes blazing into Aaron’s traitorous face. Yes maybe he’d done what you’d intended to do him, but you didn’t appreciate the accusations. Both fake and true. You wouldn’t let him see you beg for forgiveness or freedom though. You wouldn’t let any of them see it. 

They didn’t deserve it.

“I have nothing to hide,” you said, jerking your chin up. “I’ll go to the Justicars willingly.”

The righteous knights of the Order walled you in, crushing your wrists behind your back and binding them together in chains and manacles. One of them chuckled. “Sweet girl, heretics don’t get punished by the Justicars,” the knight paused, leaning down into your ear. His breath was smelt like vinegar, a chill against your skin. You resisted the urge to lean away. “They meet with the Arbiter.” 

******************

It was a sham. You’d been thrown in a cell for three days, with no meeting with an Arbiter of any kind. You’d been given one cup of water and half a piece of stale bread for that whole time. You wished you hadn’t bemoaned about the food you were given as an acolyte. Suddenly you’d give anything for a cold sausage and some dry cheese.

All this because of a stupid little lamp, you thought, leaning your head back against the cold, wet stone of your cell.

You couldn’t help but think of the man in your dream, the fury and ridiculousness of your situations matching in equal measure. 

One stupid mistake was all it took to end up here. Maybe this was a test of your faith, Justitia punishing you for faltering in belief for the first time in your life. You’d always been so sure of your devotion, so confident you were exactly where you should be. 

After the last Fiend was immobilised at the end of the Dragon Wars, the Sacred Judicator sealed it away in the purgatory known as the Abyss.

You scowled. Stupid book. 

Stupid book that was poking a big hole in your beliefs. 

Stupid book that put you here.

Well … no. You put yourself here, in a sense. If you had it your way, Aaron would be sitting here in your place instead, the bastard just outsmarted you first. 

You huffed. 

All this because he got a lucky strike in.

You snorted. Indeed, mystery-dream-man, a lucky strike indeed.
 

The sounds of metal boots clanking on stone floors pulled you out of your self-pity, and you jerked your head towards the cell door.

They weren’t feeding you. One pair of soft boots squelching in puddles was the sound of food. 

These were Justicars. 

Maybe the Arbiter was finally bothering to punish you.

You rose with shaky feet, leaning against the wall for support as your weak muscles struggled to hold up your starving body. When your cell door opened, in strode three Justicars in their full-plate, one approaching you quickly and silently, binding your wrists behind your back again. You didn’t bother trying to fight them off — you knew you wouldn’t win this fight.
 

“Where are we going?” your voice came out in a croak. You winced at the vulnerability of it. 

“You’re going to trial.” 

You felt your skin turn clammy, but strained to keep your face neutral.
 

None of them deserved your fear.

“Very well,” you tried to push your chin up.

The Justicars in front of you chuckled, stepping aside to let you walk out. “You always were a prideful one. A shame,” one Justicar tsked. “You would have made a good knight.” He sighed, as though he was legitimately disappointed. “The Arbiter holding your trial tends to be kinder if you show submission. I strongly suggest showing him sincerity if you want this to end happily.”

You felt your lip twitch. “He’ll get whatever sincerity he earns.”

The Justicar behind you pushed you forward, signalling you to get a move on. “If that’s how she provides testimony, we’ll be home before breakfast.”

Chapter Text

This truly was the Arbiter’s home and not yours. 

The courthouse was enormous, cold, and just as silent as the cathedral when you were on your knees and offering your prayers. The Justicars marched you in, hands chained behind your back, and shoved you down onto a cold wooden stool, directly below the dais where the Arbiter at the top. They took positions behind you, hands resting softly on the hilts of their swords, the message clear for you: don’t run.

The Arbiter’s throne — because of course it was a throne — was dressed in plush red relent cushions, the chair itself a deep mahogony wood, chiseled with art of the Order of Justitia, telling the story of the Dragon Wars, the Sacred Judicator, and how he ascended to divinity and became humanity’s saviour. 

The Arbiter sitting in said throne did not match the grand tales in impressiveness, but he certainly did in gaudiness. His robes were immaculately clean, and he’d decorated himself with a golden chain around his waist and a mismatched assorted of jewelled rings around every finger on each hand. His mitre hat was obscenely tall. It was meant to be — to symbolise the Arbiter’s close connection to Justitia herself — but on this Arbiter it looked too big for his sweaty bald head. His beady black eyes looked like they would get swallowed up by the stupid thing. He sat directly in the sunlight, forcing you to squint whenever you looked up at him.

You scowled, returning your gaze to the floor, head bowed and subservient like he wanted. 

You never owned anything so nice in your life. 

Just that little dragon-lamp.

It couldn’t have been worth anything. Who would buy such a thing now? It would have been insulting to sell to a merchant if you tried, they would have spat in your face for trying. But this Arbiter was practically glittering with all the gold and jewels he had glued onto his clothes and hands. 

What was the harm with the stupid lamp? 

You felt your lip curl over your teeth. 

The Arbiter drummed his fingers on the arm of his hand. “Well?” He asked, his nasal voice piercing your temples, driving a icepick of pain into your head. Ugh. Not enough food and water, and your head was beginning to pound. “What were you trying to do, girl? Hm?”

Your eyebrows knit together harder with confusion. “…Nothing?”

The Arbiter scoffed. “Nothing. Typical.” He clicked his tongue and began drumming his fingers again. “This is your last chance, girl. Confess, give up your conspirators, and you’ll be granted penitence instead of punishment.”

Confess what? What conspirators? You just found a stupid lamp and made a terrible lapse in judgement.

You shook your head and snapped back up to look at the Arbiter, pain spearing your temple and neck. “I have nothing to confess, and I have no conspirators,” you spat. Decorum and respect be damned, this asshole wasn’t worth it. Justitia would see your honesty and let the truth prevail. You would be fine. “I found the lamp in the library and I thought it would be nice for my room. I didn’t commit any sin against the Order.”

The Arbiter sighed. “Such a shame when the sympathisers make it more difficult for themselves. Very well.” He stood up from the throne, and you felt your heart jump. Finally, they’d let you go. Hopefully you’d just get thrown into a month-long confessional, you could deal with that. 

“Have the carriage prepared. If she won’t give up anyone else then she can go join the devilspawn she loves so much.”

Your mind went blank.

“… What?” you croaked. 

You felt the Justicars grip your elbows and they hauled you to your feet. You tried to step out of their reach, but you were weak and bound, and they were not. Their hands bit into your arms, nails piercing your skin. 

“No!” you cried, panic creeping up your throat. Did he mean what you thought he meant? “I’m innocent! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Innocent?” The Arbiter choked on a laugh and gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his black gaze. 

This is true evil, you thought. 

“You are nothing of the sort. You are sinful, dirty, foul. You disgust Justitia with your worship of devilspawn. You could have summoned such a horror into this very haven if you hadn’t been caught.” He spat a thick glob of saliva onto your face, wet, sticky, and smelly. You flinched. “You’re going where you belong, Sorceress.”

*****************

The carriage stank of mildew and rotting wood. Iron chains rattled and clinked at your wrists and ankles. You couldn’t feel your bare feet, your toes were turning blue underneath all the mud and muck that stained them. You shivered in your torn linen robe, swaying back and forth as they horses drove you forward to your doom.

“Let me out!” you screeched, lurching towards the barred window at the back. “Letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeout!” you screamed over and and over and over and over. Your voice was ripped and raw, every desperate word laced with pain and fury. 

How dare they?

You didn’t do anything wrong. 

“Let me out or you’ll live to regret it!” you wailed, whacking your iron chains against the bars. Your blood burned and writhed, as though your veins carried fire itself. You panted and hissed and raged. Anyone else outside of the bars would have thought the woman inside was a rabid animal.  

Maybe they were right. 

The carriage came to a sudden stop, pushing you off balance and you collapsed on the dirty floor. 

You panted heavy breaths, staring at the door. “Let me out!” 

The door swung open, and a rush of heat and the stink of sulphur assaulted your face, making you gag. 

The Arbiter smirked and offered a hand. “As the Sorceress wishes.” 

You returned his gift from earlier and spat on his jewelled fingers. “Let me go, or I’ll be the last face you ever see.”

“Empty threats, my girl,” the Arbiter tsked. He nodded his head to someone off to the side. “Grab her, lead her to the edge.”

… Edge?

Gods. No.

Nononononononono—

“No!” you screamed as armoured hands reached out. You forced yourself to the back of the carriage, curling your knees up to your chest. “Don’t touch me!” 

Justicars stepped into the carriage instead, towering, powerful armoured-forms reaching out and searing their grips onto you; your hair torn from your scalp, your ankles when you tried to kick, your throat when you tried to bite. You clocked a punch to your cheek, feeling your skin break and rip, blood pouring down your neck.

They dragged you out of the carriage and dropped you onto hot slated stone. You were bloody, bruised … beaten. The Justicars pulled you up to your feet, but you went limp in their arms, refusing to walk. You wouldn’t help them walk you to your destruction. 

It was dark and hot. The sky was thick with black clouds that masked the sun. It stank. Embers suffocated the air, stealing sweet fresh air from your lungs. And in the distance you could hear monstrous screeches and wails.

The cries got louder the closer you were dragged to the stoney edge. 

To the Abyss beyond.

Only when your toes — finally getting some colour back in them now — nudged the cliffs edge, did you look down.

Darkness. Black as pitch. Only sporadic volcanic eruptions offered any glimpse of light below, but it never lasted longer than a few seconds. And the sounds …

Gods …

 “I’m innocent,” you sobbed, your throat burning. 

Lightning flashed above, offering another hideous hint of the fate you would soon meet at the bottom of the Abyss. Thunder crashed and roared directly above you, as though Philos itself was decreeing your innocence too. 

Somewhere, far behind you, where it was safe and there was no edge to be pushed off from, the Arbiter’s voice cried out: “The Sorceress has been judged! Greed and evil shall perish so long as His Majesty and the Sacred Judicator protect Philos for all eternity!” 

“Fucking coward,” you hissed. 

You tore your gaze from the Abyss below and looked up into the sky. Lightning flashed again, and scarlet rain began to pour down your cheek, mixing in with the blood and mud and muck and sweat. 

I can’t die here.

The cries and wails of Wanderers and demons began to get louder, as though they were pooling at the bottom of this purgatory. Perhaps they had learnt when the Arbiter came, it meant a free meal.

I won’t accept this. 

You scowled, lips curling over your teeth. 

I refuse to accept this!

You jerked your head around to where the Arbiter was spewing his performance to a bunch of nobles and whoever else was self-righteous enough to be spared your fate. “Look at this face, sinner!” you screamed over the rain and thunder. 

The Arbiter stopped mid-rant and jerked his head towards yours. Good.

“This face will be the last face you see before you die.” You smiled, manic rage burning your skin. “Get some rest while you still can.” 

And before the hypocrites could throw you in, you leaped off the edge. Down into the Abyss.

In the freefall, you swore you heard a distant roar of glee.

Chapter Text

You were silent as you descended in freefall, your bravado and fury vanishing as soon as the black smoke of the Abyss enveloped you, filling you with shock as the sulphuric air rushed past your ears. What was the point of screaming? Those last words of yours were meaningless now. Your body was about to be splattered on the volcanic rock below — nothing but minced meat left behind for the hellish creatures that were trapped down here with you. 

You fell.

And fell.

And fell.

You clenched your eyes shut, one arm trying to shield your head while the other flailed to grab onto something, anything, to stop your fall. Anything to survive. 

You could not die like this. 

You were not done.

I can’t die here. I won’t accept this. I refuse to accept this!

A new prayer echoed in your head, and somehow its words felt heavier and lighter than any nonsense you spouted before for Justitia. Warmth began to beat and hum within your chest, and you pondered that maybe the stress of falling to your death was creating a heart attack. 

You huffed a sad laugh. Perhaps dying from fright was better than splattering on the ground.

You frowned.

The air rushing at your ears … was quieter?

How were you still falling? Shouldn’t your have hit the bottom by now?

… Were you still falling?

Though your instincts screamed at you to keep your eyes shut, you forced open a small slit to peak through under your eyelashes.

“Oh.”

You were falling. But slowly, the black smoke from before, now with a crimson-tinge and perhaps more mist-like, encased your body as though it was cushioning you. Instead of a plummet, you may as well be on a gentle wind, gliding in autumn airs. 

You weren’t about to reject a miracle. Perhaps there was an ingrained magic in the Abyss that ensured its prisoners survived long enough to live through their purgatory. Perhaps it was Justitia herself protecting you with some divine intervention, answering your prayers for justice. Perhaps this place was just fucking weird. 

You loosened the muscles in your arms and legs, letting them droop down your body: testing. Indeed, the smoke-mist-stuff cradled your movement, still guiding you down, but slowly and carefully. Something certainly wanted you to live.

And then your feet touched solid rock, you toes instantly feeling the sharpness and heat from the ground below. You gasped, collapsing on all fours, instinctively pushing your hands out to cushion a fall that should have killed you in any other circumstance. 

But you were fine. Your skin was cut and bleeding, you were filthy and drenched in sweat and mud, half-starved, in desperate need of water, and now stuck at the bottom of a hellish purgatory, sure, but you were alive. Whole. Body in one, gloriously solid piece.

I will not die here.

No. No you will not. 

You sat back and crossed your legs, taking a long and deep breath. Think. There must be a way out, somewhere. If magic could ensure creatures arrived the Abyss, then maybe magic could help you leave it too. 

You took in your surroundings.

Dark. Too dark for your human eyes to see properly. Bizarre reddish light seemed to sporadically pulse and glow to briefly light the environment around you, but it didn’t last and faded quickly, only allowing you to glimpse a dozen or so feet ahead of you. Perhaps volcanic lava pools or streams were active down here, providing some sort of light … that would explain the horrendous heat and sulphur stink. Everything was rock and dirt and caves, no greenery to speak of. 

A screech of something unknowable and disgusting wailed in the distance, bouncing on the cavernous walls and floors, making it echo. You had no idea how close or far that creature was. You didn’t want to find out. 

“Shelter,” you whispered, needing to hear a human voice, even if it was only your own. No loud words could leave your lips now, you knew, lest you draw the attention of some monstrosity. You had to escape this place.

You scowled, a sneer curling at your lips. Fear had claimed you, but fury would guide you now.

You had to take your revenge. 

“Shelter,” you repeated, the whisper now a cold task. “Water. A weapon of something.”

You glanced around, cocking your head to listen, nose to the air like a hound, sniffing for anything that suggested food or water. Following the some light seemed the best choice for the moment, if only to help get a better grasp of your surroundings and options.

With a growl in the back of your throat, you pushed yourself up onto your bloody feet.

And began to walk. 

*****************

After what felt like a half-day of walking — it was hard to tell now with no sunlight, but the growling in your stomach gave you an idea — you found a cave which tucked around a corner, providing a little hideaway and protected by a wall of rocks you had to squeeze past. Assuming most living creatures down here were much bigger than you, nothing would be able to get inside. It was still uncomfortably hot, and dying of dehydration was now looking to be the biggest issue instead of being ripped apart from Wanderers. You took a moment to rest, ripping up up the hem your robes and bundling it into a makeshift pillow, organising the most pitiful bed you ever had. No sheets, no linens, not even straw to cushion the rocky ground. Gods, you could have been in your actual bed back in Sanctuary…

You sighed. Despairing would achieve nothing. It would have to do.

You spent some time exploring deeper into the cave, not straying too far from the small light you had, and gathered up whatever pointy rocks you could find, dumping them beside your shitty pillow. Later on when you got some strength back, you might be able to chip and sharpen them down to create some daggers. Crude, but better than nothing. You felt far too naked and vulnerable right now to be picky on weaponry.

“Now,” you rasped with a dry throat, hands on your hips, muscles and bones crying out at you for rest. “Water.” 

Water.

Water.

Water.

Another new prayer birthed from your lips. Just as desperate as the last one.

*****************

You didn’t find water. 

You wandered with soft steps, always listening out for any unnatural wails and growls and snarls and turning in the opposite direction when they sounded too close. When you spied lava pools, you tried to follow them along hoping they would lead to hot springs, but a deep understanding of geology and volcanic environments was not a main topic of focus in Sanctuary as an acolyte, so whether you were even doing the right thing … well you had no fucking idea. 

So when it appeared any sort of ‘daylight’ was slowly disappearing, and the Abyss was falling into what you assumed was its night-cycle, you retracted your steps back to your cave, empty-handed, with a throat raw and burning. 

Every swallow felt like sand rubbing against flayed skin.

You leaned against the wall behind your little rock-shelter, knees tucked to your chest. Your skin still leaked out sweat from every pore, dripping off your forehead and down the tip of your nose. Your legs trembled. Would it get cooler at night, like it did in those deserts in the stories you read as a girl? Or would it always be this hot? 

You picked up your bundle-pillow and placed it on your knees, a small cushion for your head as you rested. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie down, so vulnerable and open to attack for any predator that came sniffing around. 

You picked up one of your pointy rocks, gripping it so tightly it cut into your palm. 

Blood trickled down your hand and arm.

You licked it up greedily, eyes rolling back in your head as you felt a far-too-short relief, quenching your killing-thirst. 

At some point you succumbed to exhaustion, knees still clutched to your chest, and hand still clenching your rock.

*****************

Something new had entered this prison. You sensed it hours ago; far different from the Wanderers and demons that lurked in here. Those creatures all had a foul aura to them, a smell and taste of their nonexistent souls that made you recoil and gag. What had fallen down earlier though … that was undeniably human.

It happened sometimes. Rare, and rare enough to make you perk up your ears with both hunger and desperation, but it never amounted to anything. They never lived long enough to be of any use. How they ended up down here you also didn’t know, but if humanity still followed the Sacred Judicator — oh, how he made your blood burn — then the humans pissing off the fanatics was a likely cause.

This human though felt … different. You felt a fierce pull, as though the human had an ingrained power that called your blood. And that ravenous rage. 

You licked your lips. You had to have it.

So what little strength you had recuperated since melting the skull of that last Wanderer, you used to soften the human’s fall. 

Hopefully they survived. You were pretty sure your power kept them from becoming a bloody mess on the bottom of the pit, but whether they managed to survive whatever demon lurked nearby was something else entirely. You just needed to get a sense of where the human was again, and you could potentially lead them to you. And then …

Freedom.

You sighed, breathing deep — then wincing as the claymore pulsed and seared at your movement. 

A snarl escaped your lips.

Patience, you chided yourself. It’s the one thing you’ve always been good at. 

Chapter Text

You woke to the sound of sharp talons scratching against stone, a gasp escaping your dry and split lips. You were lucky if you managed to get even an hour of sleep, with every screech of a demon in the distance jolting you awake. 

But this was far too close. 

You ravelled yourself from the foetal position you fell into your brief sleep, pushing yourself up into a crouch and grabbed your terrible make-shift dagger. You twirled the rock around in your hand, clenching your jaw. The tip wasn’t sharp enough to kill anything easily, and the sweat still pouring out of your pores made even holding the thing a chore. 

But still. Better than nothing.

You kept yourself bent down and low as you ever-so-softly crept up and around the corner to your defensive rock-wall, and peaked a head out to see what was invading your shelter, keeping a free hand clasped over your chapped lips. Couldn’t risk breathing too loudly.

The lack of any real light made it difficult to see, but it sounded like the creature was two-legged. Sounds of scattering of loose stones clinked against the demons steps, followed by what sounded like frustrated screeches, as though it was struggling to walk the surface. You narrowed your eyes. If only you had the eyesight like the cat in Sanctuary. 

A quick screech from the creature, louder, facing you, sent you reeling back to cover. 

Gods, please don’t come this way.

You held your breath. Palm clamped over your mouth and nose. 

More awkward shuffling, closer to you. You heard the sound of huffing, like it was trying to scent the air. Scent you.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

A sound of rushing air echoed at your ears, loose stones flying in all directions: wings. 

Now you knew what you were dealing with. A foulwings, but a young one judging by its calls and the smaller force of its wingbeats. A Wanderer not made for land, but was a menace in the sky and had a tail that ended in a sharp dagger-like point. Much sharper than your shitty rock. It had probably followed the scent of your blood from where you fell, or maybe it just got lucky. 

Or you got unlucky.

Probably both.

More shuffling and clicking, as you realised it was the foulwings taloned feet and wing-tips that it was using to navigate the ground. Was it injured? Maybe that’s why it wasn’t in the air … 

It was far too close now.

A quick, almost bird-like chirp that sounded far too much like excitement was what made you give up cowering.

Fuck this.

You would not die here, not when you had a bloody vow to keep. 

You gathered what strength you had and lept to your feet, shoving yourself through the rocky crevice that was your only defence, your skin scraping and cutting as you threw yourself forward and into the open, shitty-dagger clutched in your sweaty hand, and the foulwing standing before you.

It lept back, a startled screech leaving its fanged mouth, but quickly regained its confidence. It did, indeed, seem to be injured. One of its wings was drooping, like it was struggling to lift it, either out of pain or perhaps it had gone lame like a horse. Yet, the prospect of a warm meal was probably rare to it. You were a banquet in its eyes, and you had walked right up to it.

You wondered what you must have looked like to anyone else unfortunate enough to witness you and what was about to happen. 

They would have seen a frazzled, bruised, filthy, sweaty, bloody mess of a woman, dressed only in a torn loose linen robe. Silver hair tossed and knotted. Knuckles torn. Feet and toes cut open. Knees and and elbows battered and scraped, little rocks stuck into the skin. Chapped, pale lips.

They would have seen eyes blazing with rage, so furious and rabid she may have been a demon herself. She attacked the fledgling foulwing with savage abandon, dodging the Wanderer’s attacks with its tail and snaps of its maw with uncaring thought. It was all on instinct. She threw herself to the ground, cutting herself more, and she launched forward with her shitty dagger with just as much instinct. She slashed and stabbed, aiming for the membrane of its wings, then going for its feet as she tried to cripple it. 

With every snap of mouth and tail she threw her body out of reach like it was a bag of potatoes, not caring where she landed and what she hurt. And then she would push herself up again and launch herself at the beast, repeating whatever attacks she could land to get the thing on the ground, to make it as exhausted and weak as she was.

Die. 

Stab.

Die. 

Slash.

Die. 

Tear.

Anyone else watching would have seen a woman, now even more of a bloody and beaten mess than she was before, standing over a crying and panicked foulwing that lay equally broken on the floor, as it desperately tried to fight off the predator above it. The predator, her eyes staring down at her prey, were vacant. She cocked her head to the side as she studied the foulwing — maybe I can eat it? — and then raised her sharpened rock into the air, stabbing it through the foulwings eye. 

Someone was watching. 

Crimson mist circled and twirled around the edges of the battle, sending whispers to its master. 

*****************

You sat cross-legged as you studied the lifeless body of the foulwing you battled, trying to figure out how to cut up the meat. If you even should.

“What are the chances trying to eat this will poison me?” you mumbled to yourself. Perhaps I can cook it? you thought. Tsk, you shook your head. I’d need to make a fire. Chucking this into a lava pool would only turn it into charcoal. Maybe if I cut up pieces and find a stick or something, I could skewer bits and hold it over a pool? 

You rest your chin on your fist, frowning at the creature. It wasn’t a clean kill by any means, and now with the adrenaline leaving your blood … all the aches and pains of the fight were flaring, your throat was screaming for any kind of water, and your stomach was clenching, begging you for any kind of food. 

You scowled. You had to get out. 

Your stomach rumbled. 

You threw your head back, mouth open in a silent scream as you hissed out your frustration and inability to make a fucking decision. Eat the thing or not? Ditch it? You need to escape this fucking place, but fuck you’re starving and, gods you’d given anything for a single drop of fucking wate—

There. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it.

The smokey-mist stuff again. 

Yes, it’s right there, circling the edge of your fight. The same thing that saved you from becoming a meaty pulp. 

The way it curled and weaved … like it was inviting you to walk towards it. 

Gods. That never seemed good, but what other choice did you have? If this was the magic of the Abyss, maybe it could help you leave it just as much as it helped you enter. 

That makes no fucking sense, you chided yourself. But if there’s any chance…

You pushed yourself up to your feet, groaning as all the injuries you suffered both from the foulwing and your own recklessness sent stabbing pains in all your bones and muscles. The Arbiter did this to you. Aaron did this. Them, the whole fucking Order, threw you here, and you didn’t deserve it. You’re starving, thirsty, disgusting, and cut up from head to toe … you’re dying, and it’s their fault. 

The vow your promised the Arbiter echoed in your head.

This will be the last face you see before you die. Get some rest while you still can.

You skin burned, and it wasn’t just from this fucking volcanic hellhole now. Vicious, spiteful, piercing, sour hate ran through your veins. 

And, oh Justitia, did it taste good on your sinful tongue. 

The mist swirled again, almost like it was excited. 

Then you heard it. 

“I like your eyes.”

The voice. The man from your dreams …? How was this possible?

It sounded like his voice was all around you, but there was nothing to see. Just the crimson mist. His voice was … gods. Deep and alluring. Intoxicating. Fuck, maybe he was just another demon and you’d finally lost your mind. But you couldn’t help but lean in to it, like you wanted to curl up against it like a cat curls up to a warm fire.

“They are beautiful … In them I can see your hatred, defiance, and greed for life …”

Hope burst from your chest. Was he trying to help you? Could he get you out of here? You shot your head back towards the mist and approached, and … yes, it was definitely excited. It was practically circling you and jumping up and down. 

“Who are you?” you demanded, voice hard and unrelenting. You had no options and you were desperate, but you couldn’t follow the mystery-mist-man without getting some kind of information. “Can you help me escape?”

You swear you heard a small chuckle in the back of your head. 

“Make a deal with me.”

You frowned. A deal? This definitely wasn’t a benevolent soul talking to you, it was clear nothing but monsters lived down here. The Order of Justitia had done you many wrongs now, but it seemed they still got something right when it came to sinful creatures. A deal with an unknown entity could only end poorly.

“Make a deal with me,” the voice repeated, his voice deeper and thicker. “If you want to live, that is.”

Aaron’s look of self-satisfaction as he threw you to the Justicars burst in your mind. The Arbiter spitting on you, then throwing you into that carriage. 

You wanted to live.

You had a vow to keep.

You huffed. Both in resignation and determination. “Very well.”

The mist weaved and twirled around your legs in response, then slithered away … guiding you to follow.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

The mist seemed friendly. You lagged behind it a little, still reluctant to fully trust it, but the longer you stumbled along with weak and shaking legs, the less willing you were to leave it. You didn’t know where you were anyway at this point. 

The Abyss was a maze. Every rock, cliff and cave all looked the same as the last one you managed to glimpse in the gloom. Every lava stream you passed felt like one you passed dozens of times before. You lost your way long ago, and you knew there was no chance you’d find your way back to the little cave you hid in last night. All your bets were firmly placed on this crimson mist.

This was a terrible idea. Idiotic. As dumb as it was to take the dragon-lamp. 

But it hadn’t led you astray yet. Or at least, it hadn’t led you into danger. In fact, it seemed to be actively avoiding danger. Occasionally it would stop moving forward and pulse red light, almost like it was signalling you to be quiet and freeze your limping steps. You obeyed, and sure enough, a grumble, a snarl, a growl, would sound around the corner or behind you. You didn’t move until the mist morphed into a softer glow, as though it was saying “move now”, and onwards it began its languid travel again.  

So you followed it. 

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Your limbs burned. Your throat felt like it was full of ash. Your stomach turned and groaned. Your feet burned from the heat underneath. You wished you were thrown in with shoes.

“How—” you croaked, your voice a dry rasp. “How much further?”

The mist offered a deep glow. 

You hung your head. “I don’t know why I asked. Not like you can say anything.”

“No,” a familiar deep rumble called out from ahead. You snapped your head up to the first human voice you’d heard since you were sent to this purgatory. “But I can.”

A gasp escaped your lips.

In front of you was a massive dais, obsidian and molten lava melded together to create this obscene altar of … worship? Yet this couldn’t be out of reverence, because it was a half-fiend-half-man at the top, and completely chained and bound. His muscled body was human at the top, but his arms morphed with skin and turned into scales, with his fingers ending in sharp claws. His legs too were the same, with feet completely monstrous. Enormous black and crimson wings were tucked and trapped behind him, bound with chains, as if to keep him from flying away. Blackened horns spiralled back from his temples. A giant sword that seemed to leech red light was wedged firmly in the centre of his bare chest, and with every movement the fiend made, it appeared to drive itself deeper inside his body, making the fiend wince. 

And his face.

He was beautiful. 

Short, silvered hair that matched yours was tussled over his brow, both hiding and inviting you to look deep into his blazing ruby eyes. His gaze pierced onto yours, slanted and narrowed as he watched you, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself being pulled towards him. The mist now stopped guiding and was now trailing around your body, and you swear it was pushing you towards the creature in front of you. 

You couldn’t believe it.

This … was this the last dragon? The one the Sacred Judicator claimed he slew? Was the tome you found in Sanctuary actually true?

“You—” you stumbled forward, glancing back at the mist. Yes, it was definitely pushing you. “You’re the Fiend?”

The fiend’s gaze melded onto you, and you couldn’t tear yourself away. “Pull out the sword, human.”

You managed to force your gaze away from his, glancing at the sword buried in his body. Gods, it was horrid. The pain he must be in. How long had he been down here? Was he really the dragon from the histories? You shook your head, still unable to fully believe it, even after everything that had happened to you. “You actually exist?” you whispered. 

He growled in the back of his throat, almost like he was sighing. “You don’t have time for questions. More Wanderers are coming.”

“What?” you whirled around, looking behind you to see any threat. Snarls and wails were indeed coming from the distance, and they were getting louder. Closer.

Then suddenly, a flamma ignis, a tiger-like Wanderer with an affinity for fire and a dagger-tail burst through the darkness. Then another to your left. Then another to your right. 

Pack behaviour. 

You were being stalked.

Maybe you were being stalked this whole time. 

You hissed your rage as you whipped your head back to the bound fiend. “Did you lead them here?” 

The fiend gave a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Watch out.”

You gasped and flung back around, gripping your pathetic weapon in hand, just as one of the predators leapt into the air, claws outstretched and jaws open and ready to tear out your jugular. 

You screamed a pathetically-dry raspy scream, pointing your rock out and dodging out of the beast’s way.

Except it didn’t jump you.

It was frozen in the air, mist holding and swirling around it.

You looked around for the other two threats, and those too were frozen by mist.

“You don’t have time for questions,” the fiend repeated behind you, and the threat was thick and knowing in his voice.

Oh, this motherfucking asshole, you thought, returning your attention to the bound fiend. 

“Seriously?” you raged, blood searing under your skin. 

His lips twitched. “Pull out the sword.”

You seethed, lips curling up over your teeth. 

You were being used.

You were sick of it.

Fuck him. You’d find another way out.

He scoffed, and suddenly there was a whoosh, and the silent Wanderers were now very noisy and very close. You yelped again as you dodged out of the way of a flanking flamma. 

“Fine!” you screamed, dodging another snap of teeth and swat of sharp claws, and sprinted up the dais and up to the chained fiend. He smiled, knowing he had won. 

Fuck him.

You stared down into his arrogant eyes, sending as much hatred as you could muster, and used the last remaining strength you had to grip the hilt of the cursed sword. It seared and burned as you wrapped your fingers around it, and it felt heavy, sucking you in, like trying to walk through mud. It was both burning hot and piercingly cold at the same time. It was ugly. Disgusting. A moment of pity hit you as you imagined having this horrific thing stuck in your chest, unable to pull it out.

This is stupid, you thought. He was stuck down here for a reason, and maybe the Order of Justitia were self-righteous liars, but the fiend’s actions here demonstrated he was, at the very least, a raging asshole. He probably deserved to be trapped down here. 

But you would not be stuck here either.

He was your best option right now. Your only option.

“I want to live!” you cried, fury and fear and desperation thick in your weak voice, as you gripped the hilt as hard as you could and pulled. “No matter … the cost!” you huffed.

The sword, rusted, suddenly brightened into golden light mixed in with tinges of black and crimson strands, and surged into your chest. The power of the surge threw you off balance, sending you flying backwards and into a rocky wall. The back of your head smacked with a painful and terrifying thud, completely winding and dazing you. You collapsed to the hard floor, loose stones and ash and sand spinning around your body.

In the distance you heard a dragon’s roar and iron chains snapping with a horrifying force. Heavy wingbeats echoed around your ears. You tried to blink away the concussion you definitely had, but the only thing you could see was a ruby-like crystal eye directly facing you. 

“Hmpf.” You heard a snort. “No matter the cost, then.”

The last thing you remember is feeling clawed hands pick you up to a hard chest, and the sound of powerful wings beating against the ground, before launching up into the blackened sky of the Abyss.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, surrendering to blissful oblivion. 

*****************

You chest was being ripped open. 

You gasped, jolting awake, then immediately loosing a scream as the painful weight on your chest made you collapse back down. It felt as though something was both pushing and pulling you apart from the inside, an unbearable weight crushing and immobilising you. 

You blurry eyes regained their focus, and all you could see was a towering blackness above you, and a heavy, black, scaled hand and sharpened claws pinning you down. 

What’s happening? you panic. Why can’t I move? Where am I? Did I get out?

You glanced down to the beast’s claw holding you still, and see golden strands of light being pulled taught from your chest, as it it was being puppeted by a force you couldn’t see. 

“Stop,” you whimper. “It hurts.”

You turned your head around, trying to get a sense of your bearings, what was happening to you. Shadows of a horned and winged fiend danced in firelight on the wall.

Realisation and memory of the Abyss, of a dragon in chains, bound by a sword, hit you. You gasped and flung your head to the other side.

There he was.

Silver-haired, black wings flared wide, crimson eyes narrowed in concentration and … almost frantic. Like he couldn’t see anything else but what was apparently embedded in your chest, and he seemed to be starving for. 

He didn’t even realise you had woken up.

“Stop!” you spat, fury burning your veins. “Stop it! Our deal … you promised you would keep me alive!” 

The fiend’s eyes dragged in surprise to your face, finally noticing you were not sleeping or dead. The surprise was short-lived, and a small smirk crept up his lips, a chuckle seeping out. “I made no such promise. Besides,” he trailed off, his smirk deepening. “To be a dead person walking counts as being alive.”

Your blood burned.

How dare he. 

You would not be some mindless meal for him to use and discard. Ugh, your head …

“Stop it,” you mumbled, feeling dizzy and unconsciousness threatening to take you again. Deep within your soul, it trembled and became frantic as it felt life leave you and death try to claim you. 

No, you thought, weak and small. I will not die here.

Unbeknownst to you as to how or why, suddenly a phantom great sword materialised in the palm of your hand. 

But, for whatever reason, it was yours now.

Your fingers gripped the hilt once more and drove the tip into his chest. 

He roared as the blade met flesh and recoiled back, releasing his hold on you and the weight suffocating you finally relented. You gasped, pushing yourself up, grabbing and feeling around your heart for wounds.

Nothing.

You were fine.

“I vividly recall you saying ‘No matter the cost’,” the dragon grumbled. 

You took the chance to take him in with a clearer head. He stood away from you, eyeing the greatsword that had disappeared from your hand as suddenly as it appeared. He was encased in that blood-red mist, which weaved and danced around him like it was a protective lover. When he met your gaze, those crimson eyes were a predator’s as it considered how to corner its prey. 

It felt like mockery. 

You scowled, a fist clenched against your heart. Whatever he was trying to take from you … well you didn’t want him to have it. “I set you free,” you spat. “And you saved me in return. That means our deal in the Abyss is done.” 

Leave me alone. 

He glowered, sauntering over to you in slow and deliberate steps, making you stumble backwards off the platform he had laid you on. You couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Fuck, he didn’t give a shit about that deal, he was going to use whatever loophole he could to feed off what power you had from you in the process. 

Think, you begged. Quickly.

“Dragons can only feed on human souls if they’re offered up willingly,” you stammered. Did they? You had no idea, not really. You vaguely recalled that from the histories and psalms, but it could have been utter bullshit from the Order at this point. This dragon wasn’t even meant to exist. But you had to try something. Guess. 

“So…,” you continued, noting as he halted his steps. “As long as I don’t agree, you can’t eat me.” You tilted your chin up in defiance.

The dragon narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “Is that it?” He rolled his eyes and continued his approach, eyes ablaze with hunger and rage, forcing you back against the wall. He didn’t touch you, but bent his head down to meet your eyes. Close. Too close. “Instead of claiming your lacklustre soul, you need to return what doesn’t belong to you.”

What? Return what? you thought, though the question was immediately answered as the fiend curled a clawed finger, and golden light once again began to thread and pull out of your chest. The pain of tearing and pushing and pulling returned, making you double over.

“Fucking … stop!” you hissed through your teeth, clutching your chest. 

He merely watched, disinterested in your pain, eyes glued to the centre of your body, as hints of that black-crimson mist became tangled with those golden threads of yours. 

He was right. It felt like a soul that wasn’t yours had become fused or bound with your own. 

Was it … his soul?

Gods.

Did you take a dragon’s fucking soul? 

Fuck it, maybe death was better.

He scoffed as he watched you writhe from the pain. “It’s not that unbearable is it? Having your soul torn apart and all.” His eyes flashed, barely-contained rage simmering under the surface. He was mocking you. Because the pain you felt now was the pain he must have felt as your souls merged. 

Before you had time to react and defend yourself, the dragon grabbed hold of your arm and yanked to towards him, his eyes seemed to flare a deeper and brighter red, sucking you in. You tried to pull away, but the gaze had you frozen, dragging you down into a some kind of swirling vortex …

No blissful oblivion met you though. Suddenly you were in a field, close and distant cries — human cries — were all around you. The banners of the Order of Justitia flew everywhere you could see, soldiers bearing the Order’s heraldry shining bright on their breastplates, bloody swords risen in the air in victory.

You collapsed to your knees, a grotesque great sword poking out of your chest. Above you, a gleaming man, hair as blonde as wheat shining in the midday sun, deep blue eyes staring down into your face, and a sickening grin plastered on his lips. 

This pain was not yours though. This was a memory. 

The awareness jolted you, and the vision faded, returning you to the dragon in front of you. Gold light continued to flow from your body, but now it seemed like it was pulling the dragon to you. 

He grunted, covering his right eye. “Your power,” he whispered. “What is its source?”

My power? you thought. What power? You had none to speak of, nothing but a skill for combat. Before you could even think about denying its existence, the dragon gripped your chin with a clawed hand and pulled you closer to him. 

“Look at me.”

Gods.

His voice was deeper like when you heard it calling you in the Abyss. Yearning, intoxicating, enthralling …

You felt his claws dig into the back of your neck as he held you in place, but you couldn’t look away from his eyes even if you wanted to. You didn’t want to stop looking. Ever.

Thoughts, yours undeniably, swam to the surface of your mind. 

His eye … I want that eye … you thought. It’s mine … it belongs to me …

The dragon sniffed. “The scent of desire is getting stronger.” He released a huff of annoyance. “Tell me your desire and offer your soul to me. Then I shall promise to give you a painless death.”

His voice was a sweet whisper at your ear, a soft caress. 

No, you thought, shaking your head. No, I want to live. I can’t give him my soul. It’s mine.

“Unless, you wish to become a minion of a dragon’s nest.”

“I—” you stammered, trying to resist falling deeper into that stare. “I don’t want anything.”

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, and ran a finger over your bottom lip, leaving tingles rushing over your skin. “You fool.” His right eye began to gleam brighter again. 

Fuck I can’t breathe. You could feel your body panting, no matter how distant away you felt now. Fuck think of something, anything, to convince him to let you go. 

What would convince him?

What do dragons want?

No, that’s not the right way to go about this. If the histories are still right, dragons feed off greed. He can’t feed off his own greed.

He needs yours.

So … what do you want?

Aaron. The Arbiter. The fucking Order of Justitia needed to burn to the ground. That furious desire for revenge, oh that was very much real.

“Take me back to the Ivory City, to Sanctuary, I must return!” 

The dragon narrowed his eyes, not believing you. “Your life is hanging by a thread, mortal. And yet you still dare to play tricks.”

Oh, for Justitia’s sake.

“I’m being honest!” you spat back. “I used to live in Sanctuary, but the Order judged me as a sorceress and dumped me in the fucking Abyss! Years of devotion, just to be told I was a sinner and thrown away like trash!” Your cheeks heated as the rage filled you up again. “I won’t accept this,” tipping up your chin to meet his gaze more directly. “I want revenge.”

The dragon cocked his head to the side, as if he needed to get a better angle to understand your words. With a sigh he released his hold on you and pushed you back, and you felt another whoosh as his mist encircled you. Suddenly, all the wounds you had suffered in the Abyss had mended, no hint of any scars at all. Even your torn robe was fixed.

You frowned down at yourself, confusion evident at this small and unexpected act of kindness. 

The dragon stood to the side and gestured with a hand to the exit of whatever tower he took you to. “Lead the way,” he drawled. 

Chapter Text

You had no idea where you were ‘leading’ this fiend.

Upon making a hurried exit, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder as you felt the dragon following close behind, you realised you didn’t know where you were at all. He had taken you to a dark, abandoned black tower far up into the mountains, perhaps the only place in all of Philos that seemed to grow plants in abundance. Looking around at the ancient ruined building, you paused, biting your lip and darting your head in all directions, trying to get some sort of idea as to where to go. 

“It’s, uh,” you mumbled, turning to face him with a lowered head, flinching as you met his hard stare and crossed arms. You huffed, placing your hands on your hips. “Look, I don’t know where I am.”

“That much is obvious.”

Embarrassment churned into frustration. You freed him, and as payment he whisked you away to a strange place, and then more-or-less tried to eat you. Or kill you. Or both. And now he mocked you for being lost. 

Even though you were unconscious. And had a concussion. And. Still. Fucking. Starving.

You threw your arms out, hissing. “I told you I came from the Ivory City, just take me there!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lest you forget, Sorceress,” he drawled, voice dry and bored. “I’ve been in the Abyss for a very long time. I don’t know any places called the Ivory City.” He paused, then released a small sigh as you stared him down. “Give me a description. A general direction.”

“It’s white” you scowled. It’s a giant city, how much of a description did he need? “And big. Lots of people.”

“Exceptionally detailed, I know exactly the place.”

You released a short breath. Fine. You were being petulant. He was right; much had probably changed since he was imprisoned. “It’s a massive city,” you explained, calming down. “High towers are spread throughout the land, and tall walls circle it all. Everything is ivory-white. The central cathedral of worship, Sanctuary,” you paused, noting the dragon listening to you. His face still exuded utter boredom, but he was listening nonetheless. “Sanctuary is the tallest and largest building there. Where the Order of Justitia reigns and conducts all sacred rites, sermons, and laws.” 

You noticed a small tensing in the dragon’s jaw at the mention of the Order. 

“And it’s surrounded by mountains, protected at a bottom of a valley,” you finished.

The dragon tilted his head slightly, considering. “Then this Ivory City of yours is Tarus.” He uncrossed his arms with a nod. 

Tarus? The name was unfamiliar to you, but perhaps it had been called that before the Dragon Wars. 

He uncrossed his arms with a nod. “Very well. This way will be quicker.”

And before you could ask him what he meant or had a chance to push him away, he walked right up to you and picked you up into his arms like you were a cat. 

“H—hey!” you stumbled, awkward as you felt his firm hands grip you tightly under your knees and back, pulling you hard to his chest. The scent of him overcame your senses, being this close. He should have smelt horrific, after being locked down in a volcanic purgatory, surrounded only by sulphur, ash and the carrion-stink of demons. And he did — a bit, at least. But it was as though his own nature overpowered all the awfulness, and instead his smell was what filled your nose. 

Earthen and smokey. A little spicy, like someone had thrown a fresh log of wood doused in whiskey over a fire. You couldn’t help but feel the urge to inhale the aroma deeper.

He was staring down at you, an eyebrow raised.

You snapped your head away. “Wha—what are you doing?”

He snorted. “Hold on tight, Sorceress,” he said, spreading out his wings as he began to beat down, sending dirt and leaves up in a small storm. His tail tensed and arched, like he was readying to use it as a springboard. Your arms reached out to loop around his neck out of sheer reflex, as you watched the ground beneath you fall away. “If your grip loosens and you fall…” he trailed off, a small smirk at his mouth. “No promises I’ll catch you.”

Your eyes flashed as you stared directly into his red eyes, alight with what could only be described as fiendish teasing. “Don’t you dare.” 

And then you launched into the sky. 

*****************

Flying was terrifying. Your fingernails dug deep into the dragon’s skin, specks of blood seeping from the wounds — and immediately mending, over and over again — as you kept your arms locked in a death-grip around his neck. Brisk, near-freezing air roared in your ears, as you flew high and fast, the dragon reading and adjusting to the wind as naturally as breathing. It was odd, and somewhat nauseating, bobbing slightly up and down in the time of his wing-beats, and many times you felt like you would fall right through his arms, though he never looked concerned. His face remained passive and stern, giving nothing away except maybe annoyance. 

Except his eyes.

They had … brightened. 

You recalled, back when you were just a girl, a small canary one of the priests kept locked in a cage in his quarters. The bird, whose feathers were a radiant gold when first gifted to the priest, had dulled into a pale yellow over the months. Songs it used to sing with a full chest, turned into muted, singular coos. It slept a lot. You don’t think you ever saw that bird out of its prison.

You wondered if maybe that bird would have looked like the dragon before you now, if you opened its door. Just once.

You forced yourself to tear your gaze from the fiend holding you, and dared a look to the horizon. You couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Not yet.

There it was. The towers of the Ivory City in the distance. Close to vengeance. Close to freedom.

Flying was terrifying.

And electrifying. 

*****************

The dragon landed you with surprising gentleness, as your feet met the grassy grounds of Sanctuary. You quickly stepped out of his grip — which, to his credit, was impeccably solid the entire flight — and released a breath of relief, a hand rubbing over your heart, needing that reassurance you had survived and were not dropped from a monstrous height. 

You took in your bearings. Evening-feast would have come and past, the sky full of deep purples and pinks, as the moon began its ascent. No acolytes, priests, Justicars, Oracles or Arbiters were nearby, and you couldn’t decide if that was fortunate or unfortunate. You didn’t spot Aaron, either.

You felt your stomach turn. Out of hunger, anger, or anxiety: you couldn’t figure out which. This place was where you had grown up from a girl into a woman. This place gave you purpose, meaning, and the faith in something bigger and better than you would watch over you. 

This place also sent you away to a hellish pit.

A pit that a fiend was trapped in. A fiend that, if the stories were true, was extremely dangerous to human-kind. And that fiend, who now looked at you with expectation, had already proven to be an absolute asshole. 

You chewed on your bottom lip.

Then made up your mind.

“This way,” you said, inclining your head towards a side-entrance to the main hall of Sanctuary’s cathedral. You didn’t look back to check if the dragon was following you.

*****************

Inside the grand halls of Sanctuary, it was as if you had never left. Pure-white columns stood tall and unflinching in their grandeur, and the marble floors glowed with the sunset hues beaming through the large windows. The wall and ceiling murals were as pristine and impressive as they were before you had been betrayed and thrown away, to be forgotten. The feast tables were empty, plates with half-eaten meals still left behind. The ascended among the Order must have already eaten then. Acolytes would never leave scraps of food behind.

There were no Justicars standing at guard. Their shift-change must still be in effect. 

The dragon was preoccupied, standing in the centre of the room and taking it in. His nose wrinkled slightly, like he smelt something bad. 

You, however, could only focus on the plates of food sitting unattended and unwanted on the tables. With a quick glance at the fiend, who remained distracted, you practically sprinted to the closest table and began hauling every bit of food you could find and shoved it your mouth. 

Chicken, bread, grapes, potatoes, tomatoes, peas, carrots: you barely chewed it. It was all cold, but you didn’t care. Your stomach rejoiced at finally being fed after … a week? Yes, it must have been around a week you had gone without any food. You couldn’t contain the groan of relief that escaped your lips. 

It didn’t take long before you began to feel how parched you were, too. With your stomach finally getting what it needed, now your throat was begging to be soothed. You picked up any and all cups you could find that had any liquids left in them. Wines, ales, fruit juice, water: you didn’t care what it was, whose backwash-spit you were swallowing, you just wanted to calm that battered throat of yours. 

You closed your eyes, breathless, tilting you head back.

Gods. The relief. You’d never feel this good again. 

A huff brought you out of your reverie, and you were reminded you weren’t alone. “Growing up in a cage like this,” the dragon clicked his tongue. “No wonder your soul is so dull.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve. No point in bothering with table manners now, not with the way he probably saw you gobble up half-eaten scraps like a sow. 

“It’s time,” he said, eyes flaring in a way that said he was running out of patience.

You convinced him to come here because of your desire for revenge. And well … revenge was important, but staying alive mattered more. Whether people were in the room or not, he was a massive dragon, that should not exist, and flew you directly onto Sanctuary’s grounds. There was no way he wasn’t noticed, and the Order would get here sooner rather than later. Once they did, you could use the chaos to flee. 

You just needed to stall for time.

You looked around the room. “The Arbiter that judged me isn’t here,” you said with tight words, the annoyance not entirely-forced. You almost wished he was here. Aaron, too. “My revenge will have to wait — for now, at least. Otherwise—”

You cut yourself off. 

He had forgotten about you. His attention was focused above him, his jaw clenched tight as he looked at the mural on the ceiling, bathed in the sunset-light. He was completely still, as though he could have been one of the ivory statues that decorated Sanctuary. 

Surprise — and hesitancy — caught you, and you couldn’t help but approach him to stand by his side, keeping a healthy few feet between you.

“What is that?” he asked through clenched teeth, though the question felt more like an accusation. 

You followed his gaze, taking in the mural. 

The central focus of the art piece showed a god-like man in a bright red cloak, wielding a longsword as he executed an evil dragon in a corner. 

You cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable. “Ah … that’s The Fiend-Slaying God.”

The dragon’s jaw twitched.

“The god-like man represents the Sacred Judicator,” you continued. “And that evil dragon with the sword in its chest…” you trailed off. 

Was the dragon always that hideous? you thought, only just noticing the art-style now. 

The fiend huffed. He lowered his eyes, and casted a calm and scrutinising glance over your face.

You cleared your throat again, though it was completely unnecessary. “Of course, it’s just the artist’s take. You’re much more,” you paused, feeling your cheeks warm. “Handsome and imposing than this depiction.” 

You scowled, annoyed at yourself. He was more handsome, and he was definitely more imposing. Somehow it felt like it was insulting you. 

The dragon looked back to the mural, eyes dancing over the text beneath the piece. When he spoke, his voice was flat. “It’s been one-thousand, six-hundred, and seventy-seven years since I was sealed away.”

Gods.

Your eyes widened. “You can read that?”

“You can’t?” he asked, small disbelief slipping in. 

You shook your head. “Of course not. It’s written in an ancient language that’s been lost to time. Nobody can read it anymore,” you grumbled. The urge to learn something secret was too tempting to pass up, though. The dragon could read it. “What does it say?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

He turned back to the text and began to read. “The Fiend is the very essence of malice and greed, skilled at twisting human desires,” he recited, his tone thick with boredom. “He drives mortals to turn against each other, leading them to their own demise. 

“Given time, the world will be swallowed by chaos and descend into ruination. The Fiend’s arrival marks the onset of Doomsday. During the Battle of Tarus, the Sacred Judicator, with a will of iron, stood firm against the corruption of evil. In a war so fierce, he emerged as the sole, honourable survivor.” The dragon’s jaw tensed again. You didn’t miss the heavy sarcasm as he said the word ‘honourable’. 

The dragon continued. “He sealed away the Fiend, the very harbinger of Doomsday, deep within the planet’s chasm. With the curse of Doomsday lifted, hope was restored to Philos.” 

Silence fell as he finished reading. You shuffled on your feet, unsure whether to probe more or not. The beast before you clearly wasn’t thrilled with this version of history, but you were too curious not to know more. He was the Fiend. The last dragon alive. 

“I heard the Fiend had a destined archnemesis,” you said, keeping your eyes on the mural. “This individual must have been the Sacred Judicator, correct?” Who else could it have been?

He spat out a deep scoff. “What a lofty title.”

You hummed your agreement. Even as a girl, reading the tomes and songs and psalms of the Order, the Sacred Judicator was spoken of so reverently you couldn’t help but think he was obnoxious. “Sounds fake to me, too.”

Silence filled the grand room, as the dragon watched you. A bit too intently. It felt like he was studying you again, as though you were a puzzle and he was missing pieces. 

You stepped back and turned around, taking the opportunity to quickly scan the room. Still no fresh Judicators arriving to their posts on the shift-rotation. You were running out of ways to delay for time. 

Except… 

“You know,” you said, turning back to face the dragon. “This is the resting place for that archnemeis of yours. The Sacred Judicator’s ashes are kept here, and the Order of Justitia built a massive statue of him in the inner hall of the cathedral.” You sat down on a bench and leaned forward, resting a hand under your chin. The fiend kept his stare on you, face giving nothing away. “So, what’s your pick for revenge?”

He raised an eyebrow. “My pick?” 

You began to tick off your fingers. “You could smash it to bits, douse it in ink, cover it with curses. The priests would love that one,” you chuckled. “Or to really insult the man, you could scatter his ashes on the streets.”

He said nothing, face impassive. 

Small surprise bit you. No reaction? None? Whether he was a beast of evil or not, if it were you … well, you’d want some kind of revenge. 

“This man trapped you in the Abyss for over a thousand years while he was worshipped as a hero, basking in glory—”

He sighed. “Are you referring to that glory built upon ignorant faith? Do you expect me to envy such foolishness?”

You blinked your surprise. “But—”

Yet before you could finish, the dragon’s head snapped up, to the main entrance of the room. Then you heard the clanking sounds of metal boots walking down marble floors. Hope burst in your chest. Finally. They were finally here, and you could flee this mess you landed yourself in.

A small smile crept up the corner of the dragon’s lips. “Get out of sight,” he ordered, not looking at you. 

You whipped your head at him. “What?”

“Move, or I’ll make you move.” 

The steps were louder. Closer. Soon the Justicar would see the fiend standing in the middle of the room. 

You held your ground. “No, we’re here to—” 

Another whoosh, and suddenly you enveloped in that mist again, and—

…And now you were standing in a small alcove off to the side, right near the entrance of the room, the dragon behind you holding your back against his front and placing a rough, clawed-hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds. The newly-arrived Justicar was right around the corner. 

The dragon bent his head down into your ear and whispered, low and deep, “If you want to live, you’ll keep quiet, Sorceress. Don’t interfere.” 

Something in his voice made your skin heat. You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but … you also wanted to live. 

“Nod if you understand.” His breath tingled the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded.

Satisfied, the dragon removed the hand over your mouth, then stepped around the corner, eyes blazing. 

“Good evening,” he drawled.

“Huh? Wha—” the Justicar’s voice squeaked with surprise. You peeked your head around the corner to watch, curiosity driving you. 

The knight was dressed in full plate. It was overkill for simple guard-duty, but the Order had no uniform exceptions for any of its soldiers, regardless of the role. He was older, maybe in his mid-forties, with greying hair and flaking skin. Shock was plain on his face as he took in the dragon before him, but he was frozen; as though he had been entirely paralysed. He gripped the halberd in his fist, but made no attempt to use it.

Hope left you as quickly as it arrived. This Justicar wasn’t going to do anything to help you. He couldn’t.

Not when the dragon before you was in his element.

The fiend’s spiked tail swished left and right like a panther stalking its prey. His wings were raised; tucked closer to his back but flaring slightly to make himself bigger. He held a clawed hand up, fingers curled slightly as though he was trying to summon something. But it was those crimson eyes of his that revealed the true danger.

They were glowing, blood-red and wide-eyed. Frenetic. 

The dragon ran a tongue over a canine.

“What do you desire, mortal?” he asked. His right eye glowed a little brighter. 

You watched, unable to look away.

“I…” the man trailed off, dazed. He tried to shake his head, but whatever he was trying to resist was beating his resolve. “The new steward boy the Arbiter has for his quarters,” he said, voice lilting and longing. “He is … prettier … than the other ones…”

A deep scowl spread over your brow. A steward boy? What did a Justicar need for a boy? Why did it matter how pretty he was? 

The dragon huffed. “Typical. I could help you get the boy, if you give me your soul.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you rounded the corner. “What are you—”

“Spare me,” the fiend interrupted you, keeping his eyes locked on the entranced Justicar. “The wonderful example of human greed before you has already gone through two girls and another boy in the span of a few months. The Arbiter he speaks of sold him those three.”

Your blood chilled. Did the dragon mean what you thought…?

You turned your attention back to the Justicar, bile in the back of your throat. “How do you know that?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. 

“He desires the steward-boy. He’s remembering the others died too quickly for him to get any good use of out them.”

You felt foul. Like dirt was permanently stuck under your nails, and mud coated and stuck to your skin. For a Justicar to do such heinous things to innocent children… 

“Now, if you’re done moralising,” the dragon drawled, and his right eye flared bright again, and he licked his lips. “I’ve been starving for over sixteen-hundred years. You’ve had your meal. I’ve waited long enough for mine.”

You gasped. Surely he wasn’t actually considering giving this disgusting man what he desired? “Are you seri—”. Mist banded around your mouth and you felt pushed back and up against the wall, stuck as you were in the tower. 

Rage hit you, and your doubts as to whether the beast in front of you deserved to be trapped again or not withered, as you watched him give this evil man what he desired. 

“I could help you get the boy, but only if you give me your soul,” the fiend repeated, soothing and deep, like honey coating a lover’s lips. 

The Justicar nodded, the dazed look of a trance taken over by pure excitement. “Yes. I give you my soul.”

Your stomach threatened to empty itself.

You thrashed, wanting to stop this but powerless to do so, as you fought against bindings more powerful than you.  

The dragon smiled. 

With that raised hand, mist-threads gathered and spun, weaving towards the centre of the Justicar’s chest, and began pulling pinkish-light out of him. Just like what happened to you earlier that day. Except this time a soul did leave the body, and it left with ease. There was no struggle in the dragon’s face.

No. Just a fierce and intense hunger that burned, as he took the Justicar’s soul, weaved it towards himself, and absorbed it into his own chest.  

The dragon closed his eyes, releasing what hold he had on the Justicar, and let his head fall back. Relief was plain on the fiend’s face, the sharp and angular features relaxing and loosening. He sighed deeply…

And you felt the bindings on you drop.

You didn’t wait.

You surged for the dragon.

This is my fault, you thought. I freed him. I even felt some sympathy for him, and now the world is worse-off because of it.

You had to fix it.

“Stop,” the dragon sighed, opening his eyes. 

“Why?!” You screeched, spit flying, not caring about who heard. It didn’t matter anymore. He had to be caught. “Is this what you do? Make deals with the worst of humankind? Take their souls and let them loose their evil out in the world?”

“No,” he said, voice flat, eyes locking onto you. Something in his tone made you halt your assault, freezing you in your steps. You panted, cheeks hot. “I said I could help him. I didn’t say I would,” he sneered at the Justicar who was now … mindless. The knight swayed slightly on his feet with glazed eyes, silent. “He gave up his soul willingly, and no deal was made I was obliged to honour.”

The dragon nudged the shoulder of the knight with a clawed finger and just … tipped the soulless man to the ground. 

“This fool’s desire had overpowered him so much, he didn’t think twice,” he turned to look at you. His jaw was firm and set, clearly unapologetic for what he just did. But his eyes also seemed to … soften. The glowing had disappeared.

You felt your words of fury die in your mouth. Now you weren’t even sure if you felt bad for the knight at all. You met the dragon’s gaze.

“If it makes you feel better,” he added, “his soul was sickeningly sweet. Felt about as good and fulfilling as how you will feel in a few hours from now, after you shit out all the crap you just shoved down your throat. Your survival skills are disappointing, Sorceress.” He smirked.

You exhaled a frustrated sigh, shaking your head. Too much had happened to retaliate at his snide comments. 

“Now,” he sauntered over to you and grabbed you around the forearm, dragging you after him. “You’ll want to step back a bit.” His eyes were fixed on the shell-of-a-person that was now on the floor, groaning softly. 

You frowned, confused, and followed the dragon’s gaze.

Then watched as the Justicar, that man who had done awful things to three children, burst into into a cloud of mist.

Wetness speckled your face. The taste of iron was thick in the air. 

You stared at the spot where the man used to be. 

And decided you didn’t feel bad at all.

Chapter Text

You wiped the blood spray off your face, though all you accomplished was smearing it over your cheek. Your silver hair was streaked-red and sticking to your skin. Unlike you, the dragon remained blood-stained-free, as though an invisible barrier protected him from the splash of an imploding human body.

He probably let you get dirty deliberately.

You grunted, a retort at your lips, until you took in his expression. The dragon’s previous glee and satisfaction had vanished as quickly as it appeared, his jaw twitching, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Like he was struggling to swallow something stuck in the back of his throat, bearing a slight grimace at his lips.

“They…” your brow furrowed as you searched for the words, wiping blood out of your eyes. He clearly didn’t ‘eat’ like the way you did. “Don’t taste … good?” 

‘Good’ was the best thing you could come up with.

“Better than the Wanderers down in the Abyss,” he grunted. 

Maybe that’s how he survived down there for so long, you thought. Even you considered trying to eat one when you were stuck down there.

You stood in silence beside the fiend for a moment, unsure as what to do. Did you even want the safety the Order offered? Too much had happened, too many secrets of the faith, proved it was too risky. What were the chances the Arbiter would throw you down into the Abyss again? There would be no fiend of legend to help you then: there was no reality where the dragon would let himself be trapped again. He’d already demonstrated he didn’t care to take his own revenge, either. No, he probably wanted to be left alone, just as much as you did.

Maybe it was better for you to flee Sanctuary altogether. Leave everything behind and try to start your life again somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

Warning bells donged, deep and loud all around you, making you flinch at the noise. Both you and the dragon snapped your heads to the sound. Urgent shouts of human panic could be heard off in the distance. 

The alarm was sounding.

They were coming. 

The fiend looked down at you, eyes cold and unimpressed, one eyebrow arched up slightly. 

You tore your gaze away, eyes lowered to the floor, cheeks heating.

He knew what you tried to do. 

With a deep sigh, the dragon rolled his neck and shoulders. 

You needed to leave. “We should—”

“Don’t bother,” he cut you off, tone cool and calm. 

You snuck a glance at him from under your eyelashes, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was facing the entrance further down the hallway. He’d widened his stance, flaring his wings as wide as the room would allow, and raised a clawed hand. 

Waiting.

The shouts were louder now, and the clanks of metal boots sprinting on stone floors, swords singing as they were pulled from their sheathes, were suddenly right around the corner from you. The Order had finally arrived.

A dozen or so Justicars, some with swords, others with bows, some with staffs, rounded the corner, and froze as they took in the monster before them. Their eyes widened, mouths gaped, until one older man — their commander, most likely — shouted, “Attack!”

Still, the dragon waited.

One archer pulled an arrow from his quiver. Loaded. Aimed. Loosed.

The arrow shot straight for the fiend, a dead-eye shot that would kill any other man.

The dragon made a pinching motion with his raised hand, and the arrow immediately disintegrated before it could even make it halfway to its target. 

“How boring,” the dragon grumbled. 

Is he disappointed? you thought, incredulous. 

The failure of the shot didn’t shock the Justicars long, as the commander immediately ordered mages to unleash their attacks. Blinding, white and golden light burst into the room. Your eyes burned as though you had salt rubbed in them, making you squint and crouch low. You needed to get away, take cover somewhere. You were at risk of dying from a missed shot or strike like this. 

The dragon grunted from the radiant light, squinting his own eyes.

Now, you thought. I have to run now. 

You blinked, trying to get some vision back, and saw swordsmen charging down the hall, blades raised and ready to stab and slice. You made to turn around, find one of the side-doors that you entered in. You could run out into the grounds, find a wall without a patrol — surely that would be easy, the entirety of Sanctuary was on alert and summoned to the cathedral — and climb on over, like that cat. 

You could do it.

You took a couple of steps, using the chaos of the battle to hide the sound of your feet, and made to turn the corner.

“How impudent,” the dragon chuckled, a bit breathless as he recovered from the blinding light.

With a snap of fingers behind you — his fingers — a sharp, searing pain burst deep from your chest. You cried out, your hand clutching over your heart. If felt as if your soul was splitting from your body. You gasped, paralysed.

Your limbs stiffened. Forced you to turn around. You weren’t doing that. You couldn’t.

You took in the scene before you.

The Justicars … they were tearing into each other. Swords sunk into the bellies of their allies, arrows shot through heads, limbs set alight with fire as mages cast their magic on the men beside them. Their eyes were wide, aware and horrified as they watched themselves fight beyond their control. They were marionettes on invisible strings as they slashed, ripped and killed their fellow Justicars without mercy. 

Blood splattered and smeared on the ivory walls. Candlebras toppled over as knights fell, the candles setting the drapes by the windows ablaze. The glass windows, once beautiful and vibrant, now blanketed the hallway in an ominous, crimson glow. 

It looked like the Abyss.

Wails, screams, begging: it all echoed around you and filled Sanctuary. 

The dragon watched silently, his head cocked slightly to the side. 

The stink of iron, burning flesh and ash filled your nostrils.

You coughed as smoke darkened and suffocated the room. You strained against your body, but it was useless. The fiend was not interested in letting you go. 

“Even after all these years, mortals are still foolish to the last.” He scoffed.

He turned to look at you, his face and hair now blood-spattered, wearing a cold and cruel smile. “Come.” 

You body moved toward him, beyond your control. His right eye flared and pulsed. 

Fuck, his eye, you thought, trying to pull your head back, close your eyes, anything. Pointless. It’s his eye manipulating everything. 

He ran a claw over his chin, considering. “You’re only somewhat clever. But it’s still a pitiful display.” He clicked his tongue, and the sound of his feigned disappointment set your skin ablaze, as hot as the fire devouring this room. You couldn’t speak — he wouldn’t let you — but you sent all the utter hate and defiance you felt in this moment and shoved it all in your eyes for him to see. “If you’re planning to kill with a borrowed knife, you’d better make sure the blade is sharp enough.”

You screeched in the back of your throat. 

He’d had enough of you. The splitting, searing pain that you were now all-too-familiar with exploded in your chest again. The same faint, golden light that was contaminated with black-crimson mist, pooled and melded into small threads, and once again tried to leave your body. 

You couldn’t look away, but you had to. 

His eye glowed and pulsed again, and that dragging, enthralling, sinking feeling returned. The voice from before — your voice — sang its longing song. 

His eye … It should be mine …

“Even on the brink of death, you still dare to covert my eye. You greedy fool.” He paused, and it almost sounded like admiration in his cold tone. He relented a sigh. “What a shame.”

He’s actually disappointed, you thought. Unbelievable. I’m going to die because I didn’t meet some unspoken, unfair, unjust expectation he put upon me. Your eyes brimmed with tears of fury, straining, so wide and rabid at the insanity of this situation, of the Abyss, of everything that happened to you.

No. Stop, you thought. Think. 

He’s pissed off you tried to lure him to his death. He’s got every right to be furious, just as you did when you were thrown into that hellish purgatory. And despite not needing to, he took you out with him. He brought you back to a city he probably knew would be a threat to him, and a place he obviously did not care for. 

He did it because you desired it. Because you were greedy for it. 

The idea, the hope, sparks in your heart, a brief and momentary relief from the pain of your soul trying to split from your body. 

Something in your face must have changed, as the dragon narrowed your eyes, and you felt a weight lift off your mouth. Some degree of freedom returned.

“Wait!” You gasped. Oh, your own voice never sounded so sweet. “You can kill me whenever you like, that much is fucking obvious.” You winced at the snide remark that left your mouth before you could stop it, waiting for the dragon to lose his patience, but instead just a small chuckle escaped his lips, so quiet you almost missed it. 

Okay. Progress.

“Spare me,” you lowered your voice. “Spare me, and I can help you achieve more—”

“You can?” He snorted. “I believe I recently demonstrated how suggestion and commitment are two very different things, Sorceress.”  

Fuck. 

A frustrated screech left your mouth. “Fine! I want to live and I want your eye. It’s like how you obviously want my soul. Is there a problem with that?” you spat, staring down deep into his red eyes. His silver hair, dripping blood, curtained his eyes. 

You scowled. It was fucking annoying how goddamn attractive he was. His nose was too straight and perfect. His jawline sharp and defined. His eyes slanted in such a way that was both unsettling and enrapturing. Eyes that had now narrowed more, and you realised you had been staring again. You shook your head, chasing the thoughts away. “I want to live,” you repeated. “I’m clearly out-fucking-matched here. You’re stronger than me,” you admitted, unable to hide your face scrunching up in distaste. You hated accepting defeat. You were a sore loser.

The dragon released a short breath, then you felt a weight, a grip, around your neck loosen, and ownership of your body returned to you fully. You shot two steps back, putting as much distance between you and the fiend as you could without making him think you’d try to flee again. 

He crossed his arms. 

It was almost comical, how impatient and bored he looked, standing in this blood-drenched room, surrounded by dead bodies he didn’t even need to touch, and bathed in crimson light. 

You supposed you didn’t look any better.

“You said you could help me achieve more,” he put deliberate emphasis on the word ‘could’. He was throwing your words back at you, and you knew no amount of word-trickery and loopholes would escape his notice. “Give me an example.”

Greed. Greed. Greed.

“I can…” you searched your mind. “I can help you amass all the wealth you could ever desire,” you shot off whatever came into your head. No reaction from him. “I can help you collect as many souls as you need, apparently they aren’t always satisfying enough.” The dragon huffed. You thought it sounded like a laugh. “Whatever you need,” you stood up a bit straighter, feeling a bit more confident. 

An idea grabbed you.

He wants to be satisfied. He complained your soul was ‘lacklustre’ before. You had no intention of giving up your soul to him, but maybe you could … brighten it. Just enough to buy you time. 

Gods, this was probably a terrible idea, but it was the last thing you could think of to persuade him. “Give me what I want, whenever I want it, and my soul will surely be better than—”

Your body was suddenly jerked off the ground. You were in the dragon’s arms, and he had shot you both straight up through a hole in the now-collapsing ceiling of the hallway, and into the sky. “What are you doing?!” you shrieked, clenching your eyes shut and gripping onto the fiend, probably drawing his blood again as your fingernails dug into his skin. 

“Ask again, and I’ll devour you whole,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing against the skin. You couldn’t control the shivers. You tried not to notice how you leaned into it. 

You heard his fingers snap with a free hand — oh gods, he was only holding you with one arm, was he insane? — and what could only be described as a boom of energy, erupted from the flames below you. Columns of fire rose towards the sky, the sunset-clouds decorating the air turning into deeper and bloodier crimson hues. The ground below shook and trembled, and suddenly Sanctuary, the cathedral, which was once pristine, shining and imposing, the heart of the Ivory City … crumbled into ruins. 

“For something as tedious as revenge, this will suffice,” he muttered in your ear. “No need for a spectacle.” 

Tedious? Was he insulting your desire? You resisted the urge to bite back at him. You didn’t want him to drop you. Who knew dragons were so fucking picky.  

Down below, though you couldn’t hear it above the wind as the dragon carried you away to wherever-the-fuck, the residents of Sanctuary screamed their shock, terror, and grief. You braved a look down. 

They didn’t all deserve it. That Justicar did though. If anything, he deserved worse.

Aaron and the Arbiter weren’t there. You knew they probably would have survived the collapse. You remembered your vow.

This will be the last face you see before you die. Get some rest while you still can.

A small smile crept up the corner of your lips, as you watched more stones of the cathedral crack, tumble and fall. You leaned you head against the fiend’s shoulder, almost absentmindedly. Maybe he thought revenge was tedious but …

Revenge looked quite entertaining from up here. 

*****************

You flew for only a short while, and you were surprised with how quickly you were getting used to it. Your stomach still threatened to hurl up whatever it could if you looked down for too long, but still.

It was … nice. Almost calming. You began to anticipate and time the beats of the dragon’s wings, and soon it was like learning to hold your seat on a horse. 

He probably wouldn’t appreciate being likened to a horse. Maybe you could insult him with it if he pissed you off too much. 

The air felt cleaner, up high, as your breathed in deep. A strange feeling, to notice something you never did before. Were you the first human to fly? Did this count? You almost didn’t want it to end, despite how still utterly terrifying it was. When a cave, nestled at the top of a dark, rocky mountain came into view, you swallowed a twinge of disappointment as you realised the flight was nearing its destination. You snuck another glance below you, and couldn’t help but admire the environment. The way the mountain and the lair sat amongst the peaks … it almost looked like the skeleton of a dragon, poised to take flight. 

The fiend flew you towards the entrance, beating his wings into a hover as he dropped you to the ground. Yes, dropped. You snapped your head to hiss at him, but as the stone met your feet, your irritation evaporated. Flying was becoming wonderful, but the ground was still a reassuring presence. You felt his grip on you release and he stepped away from you, walking deeper into the cave.

You swished your head around, gathering your bearings, unsure if you should follow. Maybe he’d kill you anyway. Not like anyone would hear you scream for help up here. 

It wouldn’t matter if someone did.

The dragon walked further in, tail swishing against the ground, the darkness starting to cover him from your sight. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath, and jogged to catch up to him. 

Ahead he lifted a hand and firelight bloomed from braziers, random colours of oranges, reds, pinks and greens, brightening the space and revealing a stone staircase ascending higher into the mountain. 

“Is this your home?” you asked, your voice echoing. You increase the speed of your gait. Fucking dragon’s legs were too long, you couldn’t keep up with him. 

He flicked his heard towards you, voice snide, and said, ”Have you ever met a fiend with a home?” then continued on upwards. 

“Well, fuck me for asking,” you grumbled, finally reaching the stairs. You resisted the urge to groan as you saw how many steps you had to climb. You had been fed and watered, but you were still weak, and your muscles ached for proper rest. You needed to sleep for a week. A hot bath. Maybe this place had a hot spring somewhere, oh that would be glorious. 

It took an embarrassing amount of time before you finally reached the top, but what you beheld was stunning. The space was large, plush rugs, pillows and blankets thrown haphazardely about, and everywhere you looked you could see piles of twinkling gold coins, gems and antique trinkets. Other natural corridors of the lair broke off, suggesting other ‘rooms’. 

I guess this place will have to do, you thought. What other choice did you really have? 

Further out of the lair, led out onto another cliff edge, overlooking the Ivory City. Or Tarus, as the dragon called it.

He stood there, staring down below, face impassive. 

You approached him with soft steps, still unsure what to do. This was his territory, at the very least, and you were an unwanted guest. If you could even be called that. 

You cleared your throat. “I suppose with that knight and all, you … won’t be needing to eat my soul for now?” You cringed at the words. At the hesitancy and fearfulness that seeped through. 

The dragon grunted. “Assuming that was still the case, why would I even bring you back here?” He frowned at you, jaw tensing. “Stay put,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

You released a tight breath. “If I’m going to be stuck living here,” you said. “My living quarters should at least be decent. You little cave is a bit basic and lacking for human needs.” You couldn’t sleep on piles of gold.

You swear you thought you saw him roll his eyes. “Fine.” And suddenly you felt his tail snake around your waist, and lift you up. 

“Hey! Do you mind?!” you shrieked, grabbing at his tail. The muscle behind them was hard and powerful, and the black scales cool against your body, and you knew he could squeeze you into pulp with just this tail if he wanted. You beat at him with your fists anyway. 

He turned, still keeping you in his hold, as he walked back into the lair. You thought you glimpsed a small smirk. 

You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth. You were getting quite sick of him constantly manhandling you, picking you up and dragging you around whenever he felt like it. 

“I don’t remember mortals being so argumentative all the time,” you heard him mutter. “Hush.”

At least he wasn’t throwing you off the cliff face. 

You grunted, resting an elbow on his tail and fisting a hand under your chin. Maybe you dug your elbow in a bit. If he felt it, he didn’t show it.

He sauntered past the main living space — if that’s what you could call it — and walked down one of the darkened corridors. With a snap of his fingers, more firelight came alive in braziers along the wall, lighting up the room. 

This was one, similar to the main room, was decorated with piles of treasures. But mostly there was array of luxurious garments, dresses, suits, fabrics and bedding. This dragon of yours was a hoarder. Maybe it was an instinctual-dragon-thing. 

You felt his tail loosen its hold and lower you back to the floor. He faced you.

“Choose,” he said, gesturing with a hand, inviting you like a shopkeeper invites a customer. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. 

He rolled his eyes. “Choose. Or don’t, and continue to wear that filthy robe you got thrown into the Abyss with.” His nose wrinkled as he sniffed, a lip curling upwards with obvious disgust.

Fine. You probably did stink, and you asked him for some comforts. 

You deliberately brushed against his arm as you passed him, hoping you could rub some of your stink on him. 

You skimmed through the clothes. He was being an asshole, but you did feel gross, and some fresher clothes would be a relief. You eyed a strapless black-and-red lace dress, the hem ending at the thighs. Scandalous, in the eyes of the Order. If you had worn something like this in Sanctuary, you’d have had to suffer repentance for sinning.

You liked it.

You wanted to wear it.

You were also petty, and didn’t want the dragon to know how much you liked it. 

“You are not interested?” he drawled, making you jump. You didn’t notice him follow, and he was so close you could almost feel his heat at your back. He was too close, making your heart race.

Out of surprise, you told yourself.

You swallowed, regaining your composure. “You’d really give these to me? All of it?” You nodded to the other treasures and riches.

“Why not?” the dragon shrugged. “You’re also mine now.” 

You scowled at his words, the urge to deny him purely for the sake of denying flooding your veins, but before you could complain you felt his tail snatch you up again, as he dragged you around the room.

Like you really were a thing he now owned, and could put wherever he wanted. 

The thought made your skin burn.

He placed you back down in front of some other treasures, and you realised he was showing off a collection of weapons now. Everything in here was coated in dust. You knew he had been locked in the Abyss for over a thousand years, but seeing his things dirty and untouched drove in just how long it had been. 

With an incline of his head, you stepped forward and fingered the weapons. You spotted a glint of a dagger, suggesting it was still surprisingly sharp. You picked it up and fingered the hilt. 

“It’s called the Fiendbane,” the dragon explained, as though he was a curator of a museum. “Legends say you could plunge it into a dragon’s heart and twist it three times to completely shatter the dragon’s soul.”

Hmm. Interesting.

You set the dagger down on a table. Beside the blade sat an open box. You peeked inside and saw a pick-like weapon, as though it was meant to a blade for stealth, to be kept sheathed until the wielder went for a strike. 

“The Golden Crow’s Feather of Eternity,” the dragon said, somewhat bored. “Designed specifically for gouging out a dragon’s eyes. You humans seem to think the longer the title the more formidable the weapon.” He rolled his eyes. “This little thing isn’t even good for trimming my nails.”

Maybe some of these blades couldn’t kill a dragon, you thought, but you hoarded them here for a reason. 

You looked around the room again, taking in it all. Thinking to how much more was sitting in the main living space. And more probably in other rooms you hadn’t seen yet.

“You need a hobby beyond collecting,” you said.

He scoffed. “Your kind brought them here willingly. 

Ah. “I imagine they weren’t ... particularly polite about it.”

“Indeed,” he said, smirking. “It’s a shame those who brought them to me are all dead, and I’m still alive.” His eyes blazed with … victory?

Yes, you thought. I suppose this is a victory to him. Despite what he endured, he still lives. 

“So, the sword that sealed you away… Was it really ‘given’ to use by the Sacred Judicator?” You had to confirm it with him. 

The flash of victory turned into a blast of hatred, as the words’ Sacred Judicator’ left your lips. 

Yes, he definitely didn’t like the guy. 

“He was just lucky to get his hands on it and fortunate enough to drive it into my chest,” he snarled. 

Echos of a dream — no, it was a memory of the dragon you saw that night, you realised — surface in your mind. All this because he got a lucky strike in.

“But only it’s true master,” he continued, his rage subsiding as he breathed slow breaths. “Can wield its true power.” 

You frowned. That sword was inside you now. You clenched your fist, trying to summon the blade you glimpsed only briefly the night before, but nothing happened. No phantom great sword materialised in your hand. You let your hand drop to your hip.

You lifted your head and perused the rest of the room, spotting some musical instruments in a corner. Music.

You sighed, unable to contain the longing.

You loved music.

Once again you heard the dragon’s whisper in your ear, as he bent down low, his voice soothing and deep. “If you want something, just reach out and take it.” 

You did. A pretty ruby was in arms-reach. You wrapped your fingers around it, and twisted it in the light. This way and that, admiring it. Beautiful.

Your shadows, cast by the firelight, flickered, danced and intertwined on the cave walls. “Just. Like. This.” Every whispered word was like a caress on your skin, and you felt yourself lean back into him, eyes bewitched on your dancing shadows. “Let your greed and desire burn a little brighter…”

You should push away from him. 

He was too close, and too confident. Something was wrong.

But it felt too good to be wrong. Your hand clutched the ruby tighter. 

You felt his tail, a tail you were cursing only moments ago, snake and glide up your calf, edging past your knee and teasing the bottom of your thighs. Parts of you that only awoke when you read those forbidden tomes in the library, burned awake with a longing need. 

“This is how you’ll become worthy enough to be my meal.” His voice was a deep growl.

Fear pierced you, chasing away whatever nonsense just bloomed in your body. His tail tightened his around you, and you panicked, trying to to pull away and free yourself. You didn’t let the ruby go. 

He laughed. Cold, and uncaring.

Fear led to frustration. Frightened animals lash out when they feel cornered. “No wonder you spared me,” you snarled. “You want to fatten me up before going in for the kill.”

“Even so, you still cling to that gem despite being so close to Death’s sweet embrace,” he gave a slight nod to the treasure in your hand. “This was one of your ideas remember, sweetie,” his eyes danced with that fiendish glee. “You truly are a source of entertainment.”

Curse your own stupid whims of impulse. You managed to convince him to leave you alive, sure, but now all you did was delay your fate. 

There had to be a way out of this. You wouldn’t let him take you without a fight. 

“Enjoy my company then, while you can,” you said, returning his cold smile. “I might bring you a deadlier experience next time.”

With the way his eyes danced, you felt like you merely excited him. “Who says death can’t be entertaining in itself?” He leaned in closer, running the tip of his nose down your ear, almost like a nuzzle. His scent filled you again. Smokey, whiskey. Wood. 

You shivered again, but fear had nothing to do with it.

Oh, you bemoaned to yourself. I’m in trouble.

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he said, his lips brushing feather touches against your neck. 

I’m in so much trouble.

Chapter Text

He left you in that room shortly afterwards, a satisfied smile at the corners of his lips, and with a promise to tidy up the space and adding in those inconvenient “human comforts” as he called them. With mere clicks of his fingers, dirt and dust vanished from the room, and his mist picked up and tossed pillows and blankets into a makeshift-bed on the floor. You couldn’t help but notice it was much more ‘nest-like’ than an actual bed, with its circular shape, inviting you to collapse and curl up in the centre. 

You grumbled a reluctant “Thanks,” feeling the exhaustion of the past chaos wash over you. You needed to sleep. 

The dragon noticed. “Rest well, Sorceress,” he said, eyes bright, and left you alone. 

You groaned. He was enjoying this too much. The only reassurance you could latch onto was if he was entertained, then he was less likely to eat you. You stripped off the filthy robe and grabbed the closest, cleanest bit of clothing you could find — a long-dead soldier’s linen tunic — and pulled it over your head. 

There. A bit better. A bit more normal.

You fell into the nest-bed, fluffed a pillow, and tucked yourself in with the mess of blankets he had thrown in. No mattresses here. You sighed, feeling your muscles give way as sleep gripped a strange-hold on you. You were either about to have the worst sleep of your life, or the best.

The howling of the wind, as it travelled through all the caves and tunnels buried within this mountain, began to lull you to sleep. But every time you reached the precipice of unconsciousness, the faint cry of a dragon, mixed with grief and pain, echoed in the back of your mind. 

You could feel it. The moment the blades pierced and slid through his chest, sending searing waves of pain and fury through your body. 

The realness of it all made you shiver, and the memory of black-crimson strands leaving the great sword from the fiend’s chest, as they melded into your body instead, danced over your mind. 

You need to return what doesn’t belong to you.

You swallowed. Perhaps something did go very wrong down in the Abyss, and a fragment of the dragon was now trapped in you. It felt like a curse.

You clenched your eyes more tightly, darkening the thought into the back of your mind. Replaced it with the Justicar’s body that the dragon turned into mist.

You imagined it was Aaron standing there. Then the Arbiter.

You slipped into sleep with a small smile at your lips. 

*****************

Your stomach was churning and twisting, stabbing pains jerking you from sleep.

Fuck, is he doing something to me? you thought, rubbing a hand over your heart. 

No. You were fine.

Your stomach cramped again, and a wave of nausea hit you. You skin turned feverish and clammy, and sweat beaded uncomfortably at your neck.

Oh, no, you groaned, as you realised your mistake. The dragon even mocked you for it earlier, but only now were you aware of what you did to yourself. 

You heaved as the food you inhaled earlier threatened to come back up. You clenched your eyes shut, tears brimming, as you forced yourself to swallow down the bile. You took a moment to sit and breathe slowly, head cradled in-between your knees, waiting for the sickness to pass.

Ugh. You did not feel good.

You rubbed your hands down your face. You had to get up, find somewhere else to hurl your guts up. 

“You look terrible,” the dragon’s voice drawled. 

You jerked your head out of your hands and snapped your gaze to him. It was dark, only moonlight offering any visibility, but you could still see his arrogant smirk as he leaned a shoulder against the rocky wall, arms crossed. 

“Don’t,” you groaned, wiping sweat off your brow. Your stomach tumbled again. 

Oh gods. You heaved again, slamming a hand over your mouth. 

“Get up,” he said, jerking his head in a silent order to follow him, and pushed off the wall. “I don’t feel like cleaning up after you.” Then he turned around and walked off. 

You didn’t have the energy or will to fight back in this moment. You pushed the blankets off and rose with shaky legs, but you managed. Your bare feet padded over the cool rocky floor as you stumbled on after him. 

He led you down a shorter side path, then stopped abruptly, and pointed a single clawed finger  down towards a deep hole. “This goes somewhere where the smell won’t travel. Don’t ask where, I don’t know. Have fun,” and then made to push past you, presumably to retire wherever he slept. 

“Wait,” you whispered, your throat sore from the bile. Nausea took you again and you swayed, your body fighting to both reject all the food you shouldn’t have eaten, and send you into unconsciousness. 

Oh, the ground felt very far away. And now there was two of everything.

“Fuck’s sake,” you heard a far-away voice mutter, and then a hard, skin-scaled body enveloped you, picking you up and carrying you.

You head fell very ungracefully and limply towards the hole. 

“Now, let it go,” the dragon grumbled. 

You heaved and retched, and everything you ate earlier came back up in half-digested chunks. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as you fell victim to your body. You felt cool air meet the back of your neck, somewhat aware he must have held your hair back to keep vomit getting mattered in the strands. 

It felt like an eternity of retching, but eventually the heaves became longer and weaker. After a while of nothing coming back up, you pulled your head back and rested against his shoulder. You shouldn’t have but … exhausted. Your body was exhausted. 

“Done?”

You managed a small nod.

You thought he would drop you then, but kept you in his ams as he walked. You closed your eyes, wanting to go back to sleep. You didn’t care where he took you right now. 

He walked for a while, but soon you noticed the air thicken a little, as though you were walking through a light fog. You opened your eyes, and indeed, the space he brought you to was heavy with … steam.

Your eyes widened as you beheld a hot-spring.

Oh, you could cry.

You sniffed. You were crying.

“It’s not too hot. Well,” the dragon paused, and you looked up at his face to see him frowning slightly. “Not too hot for me. Don’t stay in there long,” he looked down at you. His eyes were as impassive as always, but you wondered if there was a hint of concern buried behind them. “You’re dehydrated. But I didn’t think you’d want to return to sleep covered in your own vomit, either.”

You glanced down at yourself.

You were, indeed, covered in your own vomit. You guess you missed a bit during your violent retching. 

You gave him a small nod, maybe in thanks, or in agreement, you weren’t sure. He set you down onto your feet and stepped back, leaning against the wall like earlier and watched you. 

You frowned. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?” It was so innocent. There was no lewdness to his tone. He literally didn’t see a problem with it.

“Why?” you spat, incredulous at the question. The suggestion irritated you so much you felt the anger spurn on a second-wind of vitality through your body, despite how tired and weak it was. “I’m not going to bathe with you watching me!”

He rolled his eyes. “Good to know the Order remains as puritan as ever. Mortals,” he grumbled, and turned around and flared his wings out, creating a makeshift-curtain. “I’m not leaving you here alone, when you’re likely to faint in the pool and accidentally drown yourself,” he said over his shoulder. “So get in and talk your usual nonsense so I know you’re not dead.”

You hissed, shoving him forward, trying to make him leave. You would not strip off and sit naked with him here. No way. 

He wouldn’t budge. It was like trying to push stone.

“Get in the pool, Sorceress,” he drawled. “I’m getting bored and would like to get some beauty sleep of my own. It’s quite late, and it’s been a very long day.”

You screeched, wincing as the noise flared up your raw throat, and gave him one last pointless shove, before turning around and ripping the ruined tunic over your head. Cool air met your bare skin, and you couldn’t resist the urge to cover your breasts and lower-half with your hands. After a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t looking, you padded over to the closet hot-spring pool and dipped a toe in.

Warm. Blissfully, gloriously warm. 

You stepped a full leg in, feeling around for the bottom, then fully sunk your whole body in, relishing in the heat. You kept your head above the water and leaned it back against the edge of the pool, closing your eyes.

“You’re not talking, Sorceress.”

You swung your head back to look at him. “Don’t you dare look at me.” He still had his back turned and wings stretched. You narrowed your eyes. 

The dragon chuckled. “Humans are some of the most promiscuous species I know of, yet somehow you all act as though your flesh is something to be ashamed of.” He paused. “It makes no sense.” He sounded confused.

“Well,” you said, turning back to face the water. You felt awkward looking at him and mumbled, “I wouldn’t know.”

Promiscuousness. You never experienced that. The closest you ever got to exploring your sexual desires was through those tomes. You hadn’t even kissed anyone. It hadn’t bothered you much before. Why would it, when you had your faith?  

Well, you didn’t even have that now. Not really. Maybe you’d beseech Justitia in times of desperation, but faith? Real faith? 

That had left you.

Sorrow touched your chest, threatening to bury you. 

You didn’t want to feel loss, though. The Order ruined your life, and you might have doomed yourself even more with this whole mess and the dragon but … you were sick of feeling sorry for yourself. You were sick of denying yourself what you wanted.

You snuck a glance at the dragon from under your eyelashes. He still had his back turned. 

Ironic, that he’s more honest than those in Sanctuary, you thought. 

“How’d you know to come check on me?” you asked, running a finger over the top of the pool, creating ripples.

“You were starving and close to death when we escaped the Abyss,” he said, turning his head slightly towards you. “Then devoured anything you could see. Gods-knows how long that food had been sitting out for,” he muttered. “There’s a reason you humans are told to eat bland, small things when you’ve gone without food for so long. I’m starting to think your lack of survival skills is because you have a death-wish.”

You ignored the jab. He was trying to keep you distracted and alert, and he learnt the best way to keep your attention was to piss you off.

You turned around to face him fully. If he snuck his own glance, he’d get a full view of your nakedness, but for whatever reason, you trusted he wouldn’t. “What was it like?” you asked, tentative. “To starve for over a thousand years.”

He tensed. 

Too much, you thought. You’re prying. 

“Sorry, that’s none of my business—” you stammered, cursing your foolish curiosity, but he cut you off, surprising you.

“Empty. But also full,” he paused, considering. “Uncomfortably full of emptiness. It was always present, always aware, like it was its own creature. The feeling never left.”

You felt some part of you sink with sorrow. You’d only been hungry and desperate for a week. He’d done it for centuries, bound and in constant pain, unable to do anything to change his fate. How powerless he must have felt: knowing he was this world’s most feared predator, but it didn’t matter.

The echo of a dragon’s cry filled your ears again.

You lowered your head to the water.

His voice hardened. “Are you done?” 

“I—yes,” you said, jerking out of your reverie and stepped out of the pool. The dragon, back still turned, lifted a hand, and a towel and a fresh tunic materialised in front of you. You dried off and dressed yourself, then tapped his shoulder. 

He lowered his wings and faced you. 

You raised you chin at him, meeting his cold stare. 

“Thank you,” you said. For checking on me, you thought. For holding my hair back. For making sure I didn’t faint in the water. I shouldn’t thank you. But I want to.

Those unspoken words remained unspoken as you locked your eyes onto cold and indifferent ones. He must have heard them though.

Why else did those eyes warm, ever so slightly?