The forest beyond the canyon was quiet, painted gold by the rising sun. Dew clung to every leaf and blade of grass, each droplet catching the morning light like tiny stars scattered across the earth. Birds stirred in the canopy above, singing in uneven bursts—as though the woods themselves were stretching awake.
The horrors of the Shrouded Court, the echo of steel on steel, the haunted silence of the Guardians—those memories still lingered, but now they felt impossibly far away.
For the first time in days, Calypsius and Ellara weren't running. Weren't bleeding. Weren't bracing for the next blow.
They were walking. Slowly. Purposefully.
And they had a dragon.
The hatchling rode curled in Calypsius's cloak, her warm body nestled against his ribs. Occasionally, she poked her head out to sniff the wind or chirp softly at the passing flutter of wings or the rustle of nearby brush. Her scales shimmered in the morning light—obsidian laced with bronze and faint violet undertones, like dusk preserved in metal. Her golden eyes followed everything, bright with curiosity and awareness far beyond her age.
Ellara walked a few steps ahead, pausing now and then to move aside low-hanging branches or check the softness of the trail. She glanced back often—not at Calypsius, but at the little creature tucked against him, trying and failing to look indifferent.
"You need to name her," she said finally, voice light but not teasing, as they waded across a shallow stream. The water sparkled around her boots.
Calypsius glanced down at the dragonling, who had started chewing gently on the edge of his cloak. "She hasn't told me her name yet."
Ellara raised an eyebrow. "She's a dragon, not a spirit."
He smiled faintly. "You don't know that."
She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. "…Actually, no. You're right. I don't."
The silence that followed was companionable. They traveled until the trees thinned and the ground opened into a wide clearing, fringed with wildflowers and tall golden grass. A perfect place to rest.
They made camp near the edge of a sun-dappled meadow, beneath a broad oak whose roots curled up like the arms of a sleeping giant. Calypsius set down his pack while Ellara laid out the dried meat and berries they'd gathered. Ashwing took that as an invitation to tumble out of the cloak, her legs still too short for grace, but not for determination.
She tottered around the edge of the fire pit, flapping her wings with reckless excitement, her tiny claws tearing up clumps of moss. She trilled when she caught a beetle, then dropped it in confusion and chased after a dancing leaf instead.
"She's going to be a menace," Ellara said, smiling as she watched the chaos unfold.
"She's perfect," Calypsius murmured, the words slipping out before he could think.
Ellara turned her gaze toward him, the teasing smile fading into something softer.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "She is."
As twilight fell and stars pricked the darkening sky, the campfire crackled to life. Ashwing had finally exhausted herself and collapsed in a warm heap against Calypsius's side. Her tiny tail twitched with dreams, curled loosely around his wrist. Valenyr, for once, lay dormant beside him, its golden glow dimmed as if it, too, had been lulled into rest.
"I forgot what this felt like," he whispered after a long while, eyes on the firelight dancing in Ashwing's scales.
Ellara stirred beside him, lying back on the ground with her hands folded beneath her head. "What?"
"Just… breathing without fear."
She turned her head toward him, eyes unreadable in the flickering light. "Hold on to it," she said. "Moments like this don't last forever."
Calypsius looked down at Ashwing again. Her breaths were slow, even, steady. She had trusted him—chosen him. That knowledge settled in his chest with more weight than Valenyr ever had.
"I'm going to protect her," he said softly, more to himself than to her.
Ellara didn't move, but her voice came steady across the fire. "I know."
They didn't speak again that night. The forest rustled gently around them. The stars shifted above in their quiet dance. And for once, Calypsius let the silence stay.
No threats.
No blades.
Just warmth, and the rising hope of something new.