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Ignat awoke to the tender blush of dawn, its golden light weaving through the shadows of their cave like threads of silk, casting a delicate glow over the dear figure curled at his side. He stirred slowly, his gaze drifting down to rest upon his spouse, who was nestled in tranquil slumber. Rita lay peacefully against his broad chest, his soft breaths barely a whisper, the rise and fall of his small form a comfort to the half-dragon’s soul. Ignat's gaze softened as he took in every fragile line of his consort’s form—the delicate hands resting on his chest, the gentle curve of his shoulders, his head nestled against him in perfect trust. How gentle his breaths were, shallow as if any greater sigh might wake him from a fragile dream. All of Ignat’s strength dissolved like mist beneath a rising sun, surrendering to the quiet beauty before him.
How had he ever deserved this?
There was a time, not so long ago, when he had known only the solitude of shadows, his heart a cavernous hollow. The strength he’d once thought would guard him had only led to a life half-lived, a life cold, untouched, and unfeeling. He had roamed with the heart of a half-beast, caught in his own private wilderness. But then came Rita, his Rita—a warmth so profound it slipped beneath his scaled exterior and into his soul.
For a moment, Ignat simply looked, a quiet reverence filling him, a feeling as vast as the open sky. Rita was so small in comparison to his hulking frame, a waif of a boy compared to the beast that held him. Ignat knew his own strength, felt the dangerous pulse of dragon’s blood coiled within him—a force so fierce it had kept others away, made him a creature feared, isolated, and untouchable. But not Rita. Rita had seen the heart within the half-dragon’s chest, the gentle places he’d hidden even from himself. Rita had walked into his loneliness and filled it like sunlight breaking a bitter winter.
Slowly, Ignat shifted, careful not to wake him as he wrapped his arm tighter around Rita’s small frame, feeling the softness of his beloved under his scaled hand. He could scarcely believe he was real, that such a tender, fragile person lay willingly in his arms.
He shut his eyes and, with a silent plea, sent a prayer into the stillness: Let this last. Let me keep him. Let us stay like this, with my arms around him and his warmth against me, forever.
In a world of steel and flame, of battles that had hardened him, Ignat had never known the depth of his own need for someone like this—a need to cherish, to protect.
As the dawn crept further into their small abode, Ignat’s heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. How many mornings had he once woken alone in cold, empty places, each day a yawning chasm of silence and solitude? He had wandered those years like a lost soul, drifting through endless battles, clashing steel and fire his only company. His life had been a barren landscape, every step weighed with the sharp, hollow ache of loneliness. He was a creature of force and fury, made to destroy, not to cherish. How could he have ever imagined that someone so pure, so radiant, would willingly walk into the shadows he carried within him?
How did I deserve you?
The thought whispered through his mind with aching reverence. How could someone as fierce and broken as him have found this delicate, unwavering love?
Ignat traced gentle, rhythmic circles with his thumb over Rita's skin, his touch so light it barely brushed him, a silent caress careful not to disturb his spouse's peaceful sleep. Please, he thought as his heart whispered its devotion, Please let this last. His fingers brushed over Rita’s hair, trailing gently through the silken strands with a touch as tender as his heart was fierce. Every moment he was with him, he marveled at how Rita was both strong and delicate, an ember quietly aglow in the dim chambers of his life.
He buried his face into the softness of Rita’s hair, inhaling deeply, savoring the sweet, subtle scent that was his alone to treasure. This boy, this fragile, beautiful soul—he had been the light that drew Ignat from a dark, endless wilderness.
Ignat pressed a kiss to Rita’s brow, his lips brushing over the warm skin with a gentle devotion that belied the strength in his massive frame. He had been saved by Rita, lifted from his loneliness by a soul as bright as dawn breaking over a forgotten battlefield. Each night since they had been joined, Rita had cast away the shadows with his quiet laughter, his warm smiles, and his tender touch. The dragon inside him—the fierce, burning creature that he had carried in his blood—had quieted in the face of this gentle, unwavering light.
Leaning closer, Ignat’s breath stirred over the soft curve of Rita’s shoulder. He kissed the delicate slope of Rita’s collarbone, reverent as if he were brushing against the divine.
A soft murmur escaped Rita as he shifted in his sleep, nuzzling deeper against Ignat’s chest, his small hands curling possessively around him as if to remind him that he belonged here, safe and cherished. Ignat’s heart swelled, his resolve hardening into a sacred vow. The world could crumble, but he would remain by Rita’s side, a silent sentinel, his heart bound to his fragile beloved like a shield to a knight.
And in the gentle quiet of the morning, his arms closed around Rita a little more, drawing him closer until there was no space, no loneliness, only their entangled bodies, only the thrum of two hearts beating in delicate harmony. And as he held him, Ignat sent one more silent prayer out into the morning light, humble, raw, the prayer of a soul who’d once been lost and now had everything.
Please. Don't leave me.