Chapter Text
“This is the fifth death of a dragon. These mighty beasts are already rare, and now they are dropping like flies. Isn’t it a bit too suspicious?”
Levi overheard the muffled whispers of the guards outside the stable doors, but he didn't slow the steady, rhythmic stroke of his iron-bristle brush against Flavian’s flank. The midnight scales that were once hard as forged steel and shining like obsidian under the moonlight felt dull, rough, and unnaturally cold today.
Flavian gave a wet, agonizing shudder, his vast ribcage expanding before a low whine escaped his throat. A dark, tar-like fluid trickled from his nostril, hissing as it corroded the dry straw beneath his snout and Levi’s jaw tightened at the sight. He had raised this beast from a hatchling the size of a hound, back when Isabel and Furlan were still alive to laugh at how the little dragon stole meat off Levi’s plate.
Now, Furlan and Isabel were six feet under, victims of a sudden, convenient "accident" in the royal barracks. Kuchel, his mother was long gone and Flavian was all Levi had left. His only family.
"We have to stop the disease before it spreads through the rest of the Dragoon Guard," a captain’s harsh voice echoed from the courtyard outside.
"How?" another asked. "The Church’s healers say it’s a divine plague. A curse. Do you think it's unstoppable?"
What came next was what Levi dreaded most.
"Simple. We isolate the infected ones. And we put them down before they rot the whole stable."
Levi leaned his forehead against Flavian’s massive snout. The dragon opened one heavy, golden eye, letting out a faint breath that smelled faintly of copper and ash instead of heat.
"Hold on, boy," Levi murmured, his voice barely a rasp. "Just hold on. I’m going to fix this, even if I have to burn every oath I ever took to the Crown."
An hour later, Levi pulled a heavy wool cloak over his head, shielding his face as he slipped through the dark, winding alleys of the city's underbelly. The glittering spires of the royal court faded into the damp, stench-ridden shadow of the Underground District where his childhood home used to be. Up above, the Church of the Walls ruled with holy scripture and quiet poison and down here, money and blood were the only currencies that mattered.
He wove through a maze of rotting timber houses and narrow tunnels until he reached a battered, unmarked tavern door. Stepping inside, he walked past the glares of cutthroats and thieves, straight to a heavy door in the back. He knocked four times in a deliberate, irregular rhythm and then spoke the code word through the iron grate.
The heavy door creaked open.
Sitting behind a desk littered with stolen ledgers, an empty bottle of cheap liquor, and a half-eaten loaf of bread was a tall man resting his boots on the table. A wide-brimmed leather hat cast a heavy shadow over his weathered face.
"Ahhh, my dear little nephew," Kenny drawled, his voice a thick, lazy rascal’s rasp. "Never thought I’d see yer ugly mug back down in the dark. ’Specially after ya sold me out to the Crown for a fancy uniform and a shiny badge, eh?"
"Shut it, Kenny," Levi snapped, stepping into the room and letting the heavy curtain fall behind him. "I didn't come here for a family reunion. I need information."
Kenny leaned back, a dark, gap-toothed grin spreading across his face. "Ain't complainin', boy. You acted exactly how I taught ya—survival first. You did what ya had to do to keep my poor sister fed before she passed, so I’ll spare ya the lecture. I'm feelin' charitable today. For Kuchel’s sake." Kenny put his boots down with a heavy thud and leaned forward, his eyes glinting like a hawk's. "So out with it. What’s got the King’s favorite Dragoon so desperate he’s crawlin' back to the gutter?"
"Witches," Levi said coldly. "Where are the last of them?"
Kenny rested his chin on his knuckles, his laugh coming out like dry gravel grinding together. "Witches? Well now, that’s a dangerous word, nephew. The Church burns 'em, the knights hunt 'em, and you... well, what’s yer play? Ya goin' to murder one for the High Priest?"
"Does it matter?" Levi barked back.
"It don't," Kenny chuckled, resting his hand casually on the pommel of a heavy dagger at his hip. "But information ain't free, brat. They’re rare little things these days, ain't they? I hunted enough of 'em in my prime to know. 'Kenny the Ripper' ain't a name that comes easy, ya know. We carved 'em up real nice when the Church was payin' double for their heads."
"Just tell me where to look."
"Yeah, yeah, keep yer trousers on," Kenny sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "Rumor has it a few of 'em hid out deep in the Giant Forest—the place where the Titan-trees grow taller than the castle walls. You know why the King’s men never trek out there. Word is the witches made a deal with the beasts in the woods to keep humans out. Though if ya ask me, it’s just a bedtime story the old hags made up to keep killers like me from throat-slitting 'em in their sleep."
Levi narrowed his eyes, his gloved hand resting on the hilt of his shortsword. "How trustworthy is the news?"
"We only killed 'em when there was coin in it, brat. When there wasn't, witches made fine doctors for men who couldn't visit a real physician without gettin' hung," Kenny said softly, his humor dropping for a brief second. "My sources are good. Down here, bad information gets a man killed."
Levi pulled a heavy leather pouch from his cloak and tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a thick, metallic thud with far more gold than the information was worth.
"For my mother’s sake, I hope you aren't scamming me, Uncle."
Kenny looked at the bag, then up at Levi, a rare spark of genuine surprise flashing in his cold eyes before he let out a loud, booming laugh.
"Hah! Who knew the brat had it in him to finally say the word," Kenny smirked, pocketing the gold without counting it. "Get outta here, kid. They say there’s one last witch livin' near the roots of the oldest tree in that cursed forest. If yer dragon's dyin' like the rest of 'em, she’s the only creature alive crazy enough to help ya."
“How’d you know about my dragon?”
“Rumours, dear nephew. Rumours. We have eyes and ears everywhere.” Levi left without a word pulling his hood back again.
***
Normally, Levi was a man who planned down to the second. He calculated risks, weighed variables, and mapped out escape routes three steps ahead. But urgency was a cruel master, and Flavian was running out of time. Every shuddering, fluid-filled breath from the dragon’s lungs felt like an hourglass dropping its final grains of sand. If Levi waited to formulate a flawless strategy, he would be meticulously planning a funeral.
He had to act tonight.
The Dragoon Guard’s roosts were strictly guarded under the Church’s latest security decree. Sneaking a giant, midnight-scaled dragon out of the high-security subterranean stables was an insane gamble, but Levi knew the layout—and more importantly, he knew the men.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, crimson shadows over the courtyard, Levi assumed his post at the guard station. As a Flight Captain, assigning the night rotation was his duty. His gray eyes swept over the lined-up soldiers, icy and calculating.
He didn't pick the sharpest men. He picked the slackers.
"Oluo. Eld," Levi commanded, his voice deadpan and laced with fake irritation. "You two have the northern perimeter and the lower roost gates tonight. Shift starts at midnight."
Eld suppressed a yawn, rubbing the back of his neck, while Oluo slumped, looking as though a strong breeze could knock him over. Both men had worked a fourteen-hour patrol shift earlier that day. By 01:00, their eyes would be heavy; by 02:00, they would be sound asleep against the stone wall of the guardhouse.
"Captain, respectfully, we’ve been on our feet since dawn—" Oluo began to whine.
"Are you questioning my orders?" Levi cut him off, a sharp glint in his narrow eyes. "You’ll take the gate watch, or I’ll have you scraping dragon stalls until the snow falls. Dismissed."
The two soldiers scrambled off, grumbling under their breath, completely oblivious to the fact that their exhaustion was the linchpin of Levi's plan.
At two in the morning, the courtyard was swallowed by a thick, heavy fog.
Levi glided through the shadows like a ghost, his cloak wrapped tight around his shoulders. Just as he predicted, Eld was slumped over a wooden barrel near the outer archway, snoring softly, while Oluo sat propped against the heavy iron gate, his chin resting firmly on his chest.
Levi unlatched the heavy gate mechanism with silent, practiced precision, greasing the iron hinges with a smear of animal fat he’d prepared earlier to muffle the sound. He slipped into Flavian’s dark stall.
The dragon shifted, letting out a low, raspy whine of recognition. The smell of rot and copper hung heavy in the air.
"Shh. Quiet, boy," Levi whispered, placing a gloved hand firmly over the dragon’s snout. "We’re leaving. We are going to make you feel better."
Flavian’s large golden eye unfurled, cloudy with pain, but he leaned into Levi’s touch. Levi didn't bother with the heavy parade armor or the formal saddle. He strapped on a minimal leather rig, tethered his supplies, and threw a heavy, dark canvas cloth over Flavian’s brightly polished brass reins to eliminate any glint in the dark.
Leading the massive beast out of the stables was like walking a mountain through a needle’s eye. Every heavy step Flavian took made the gravel crunch, but Levi guided him through the fog, stepping rhythmically to mask the noise.
They reached the edge of the lower cliffside, a drop-off point used for emergency night launches.
"Can you do it?" Levi muttered, climbing up Flavian's scaled shoulder and locking his boots into the leather stirrups. He leaned down, pressing his face close to the dragon's ear. "One jump, Flavian. Don't roar. Just fly."
Flavian gathered his remaining strength, his massive muscles trembling beneath his skin. With a quiet, agonizing heave, the dragon launched himself off the stone ledge into the abyss.
For a terrifying second, they plummeted into the dark mist. Then, with a wet, heavy crack of leather and bone, Flavian opened his wings, catching the thermal wind. They glided silent and low, skimming just above the tree line, leaving the sleeping city and the treacherous Church of the Walls behind.
Levi gripped the reins tight, his face set like flint against the biting night air, his eyes fixed on the distant, towering canopy of the Giant Forest. There was no turning back now. He was officially a traitor to the Crown and their only hope was hiding under the roots of the world.
***
Flavian’s wings beat the night air with a heavy, wet strain. Levi could feel every ragged pulse of the dragon's heart through his boots, the steady rhythm flagging into something erratic and weak. They were gliding far too low, almost skimming the jagged edge of the forest canopy, but Flavian simply didn't have the strength to hold altitude.
"Flavian," Levi called out, his voice sharp against the whistle of the wind. He leaned forward, pressing his gloved hands flat against the dragon’s trembling neck. "I need you to give it your all. Just one last time. Push through it, boy."
Flavian let out a muffled, low rumble with a quiet, desperate roar of understanding and dug deep into his failing reserves. With a brutal heave of his chest, the dragon snapped his massive wings downward, driving them up, up, and clear above the sea of giant, towering branches. The cold night air hit them full force, blowing back Levi’s cloak as they breached the mist.
Levi scanned the sprawling abyss of green below. Spotting a single cottage under a sea of hundred-meter-tall Titan trees from the sky was impossible. They needed a landmark or a scent.
"Flavian," Levi barked over the rush of the wind. "Use your nose. Smell for anything that doesn't belong to the woods. Fire, herbs, a human."
Flavian groaned a deep, agonizing sound. It wasn't resistance; it was pure exhaustion. The poison was suffocating him from the inside out, burning his lungs with every inhalation. He lowered his snout, fighting through the dizzying pain to catch the shifting currents of the night air.
Then, Flavian’s head snapped slightly to the east. His nostrils flared. He had caught a whiff of smoke, of dried lavender, iron, and the undeniable scent of a living human.
He had found her. But the effort was the final straw.
A sudden violent tremor ran through Flavian’s frame. His golden eyes rolled back, graying with a blinding wave of vertigo. His left wing buckled, folding uselessly against his ribs as he lost his hold on the wind.
They plummeted.
"Flavian! Hold on!" Levi shouted.
The dragon began flailing, his massive tail whipping through the air as they dropped like a stone into the dark jaws of the canopy. Giant, ancient branches snapped like toothpicks around them, tearing at Flavian’s hide and ripping Levi’s cloak.
Seeing the forest floor rushing up to swallow them, Levi hauled back on the left rein with all his weight, using what little momentum they had left to steer the dying descent. He aimed Flavian away from the deadly trunk of a massive Titan tree and straight toward a dense thicket of tall, mossy ferns and overgrown elderberry bushes.
"Brace!" Levi yelled, locking his legs into the straps.
Flavian slammed into the brush with a deafening CRASH. Earth, shattered wood, and torn leaves erupted into the air as the dragon plowed thirty feet through the undergrowth before sliding to a agonizing halt, his massive body crushing the dense greenery into dust.
Silence fell over the clearing, save for the hiss of hot, black blood dripping from Flavian’s nose and the slow, agonizing rise and fall of his chest.
Levi unclipped his bindings, dropping to the muddy ground. His shoulder throbbed where he’d clipped a branch, but he ignored the pain, immediately scrambling to Flavian’s head.
"Flavian. Hey. Stay with me," Levi rasped, placing a shaking hand over the dragon’s closed eye.
A few yards away, hidden beneath the sprawling roots of the ancient tree they had barely missed, a small wooden door swung open. A figure stepped out into the settling dust, clutching an oil lantern in one hand and a bone-handled hunting knife in the other, her thick goggles reflecting the faint moonlight.
"It did smell like something was going to happen today..."
The voice drifted out from the settling dust and crushed leaves, bright, raspy, and entirely unfazed by the sudden destruction of her front yard.
Levi shook his head hard, fighting off the sickening wave of dizziness from the crash. His boots hit the damp mud with a wet thud. Ignoring the sharp ache in his ribs, he immediately slammed his palm against Flavian’s massive side, straining to feel the faint, heavy thump of a pulse. A ragged, wet exhale escaped the dragon's snout, puffing warm ash into the cold air.
He was still breathing. Barely.
Relief flared in Levi’s chest for a fraction of a second before instinct took over. His hand flew to his hip, unsheathing his blade with a sharp, lethal shhhk.
"Who goes there?" he demanded into the gloom, shifting his stance to put himself between the stranger and his dying dragon.
Instead of a battle cry or a spell, a sudden, manic laugh rang out through the ancient trees, unhinged, echoing, and entirely too loud for three in the morning.
"You crash into my forest, smash through my elderberry bushes, and you dare threaten me?"
Levi narrowed his gray eyes, tracking the glow of an oil lantern cutting through the haze of smoke. As the warm light illuminated the figure, Levi blinked.
Standing before him was not a hideous crone or a shadowy demon, but a woman. She wore worn leather tunics, thick protective wraps around her arms, and a pair of brass-rimmed goggles pushed up onto her forehead, pinning back messy, dark brown hair. Her eyes gleamed behind her wire-rimmed glasses with a wild, terrifying curiosity.
"Witch!" Levi spat, holding his sword level with her throat.
"Now, now..." She took a slow step forward, completely ignoring the silver blade inches from her chest. A sly, lopsided grin spread across her face as she looked past him, her eyes locking onto the colossal, bleeding beast collapsed in the brush.
"Isn't that a bit rude? Did you not come all this way into the dark, scary woods just to find me? The Witch?"
***
With a painful, dragging effort, Levi helped guide Flavian into a massive cavern hidden just behind a curtain of thick vines. The space was staggering colossal, hollowed-out stone sanctuary that smelled of old ozone, petrified wood, and ancient fire.
"Before dragons were taken into royal custody, they were creatures that dwelled in nature," Hange said, her voice dropping its manic edge and taking on a quiet, almost reverent quality. She hung her lantern on a rusty iron hook embedded in the cavern wall. "This is an ancient dragon cave. I'd wager your steed's ancestors were born right on this stone."
She set her heavy bag of glass jars and brass tools down on a wooden table, though her eyes never left Flavian.
"But did you know?" She turned to glance at Levi over the rim of her glasses. "Dragons were of many different races, too. There were forest dragons, water dragons, volcano dragons... then your people came. You captured them. Tamed them. Stripped them from their homes... and now you're killing them."
Levi’s grip on his sword hilt tightened, his knuckles turning white. "I am not the one killing them."
"No," Hange agreed softly, stepping closer to the massive, black-scaled head lying prone on the earth. "You just wear the uniform of the men who do."
She reached out a hand. Levi opened his mouth to bark a warning, to tell her that Flavian was a trained war-beast who had nearly taken off the arm of a senior stablemaster for simply reaching too fast but the words died in his throat.
Hange gently stroked the base of Flavian's horns. "Poor little thing..."
Instead of snapping, instead of growling, Flavian let out a low, wet rumble that sounded suspiciously like a purr. The colossal dragon leaned his heavy head directly into her palm, letting his clouding eyes flutter shut as he nuzzled into her caress, soaking up the warmth of her hand.
Levi froze, a sudden, ridiculous pang of betrayal slicing through his chest.
Traitor, Levi thought, glaring hard at his own dragon.
Flavian had never… not once in fifteen years tolerated another human's touch. Isabel had taken a month just to get him to eat out of her hand, and Furlan had been nipped more times than Levi could count. Flavian bonded with Levi and Levi alone.
Yet here was his fiercely loyal, bloodthirsty dragon, swooning like a stray kitten for a fugitive witch in a cave.
"He likes you," Levi muttered, his tone dripping with sour disbelief as he crossed his arms, trying to mask how deeply the gesture had caught him off guard.
"Dragons don't care about royal titles or stolen uniforms," Hange said quietly, resting her forehead against Flavian's snout for a brief, gentle moment. "They only care about intent. He knows I'm here to heal him."
She pulled back, her soft expression instantly hardening into the sharp, deadly focus of a master scholar. She snapped her rubber gloves on and looked at Levi. "Now, stop glowering at your own beast and come over here. If we're going to save his life, you're going to have to help me."
"Unbuckle the neck guard," Hange ordered, her hands already moving across a table piled high with steel scalpels, glass vials, and strange dried roots. "And get that heavy parade armor off his chest. He can’t breathe with all that dead weight suffocating his throat."
Levi didn't argue. He moved swiftly, unfastening the heavy leather straps and thick iron plates that bound Flavian’s neck. As he hauled a heavy piece of steel off the dragon’s chest and tossed it to the cavern floor with a loud, echoic CLANG, he couldn't stop staring at her.
She was completely exposed. Her back was turned to a trained soldier carrying a lethal blade, yet her heart rate hadn't even elevated.
"Aren't you scared that I'll kill you, witch?" Levi muttered, his voice low, sharp, and dangerous.
"No," she replied offhandedly, not even bothering to look back at him as she ground a cluster of dried gray leaves into a fine powder with a stone mortar. "And my name is Hange. Just to clarify, I am no witch."
Levi paused, a leather strap halfway out of its brass buckle. "You're not a witch?"
Hange turned around, walking right up to Flavian’s massive snout. To demonstrate what she wanted the dragon to do, she dramatically opened her own mouth wide, tapping her lower lip. Flavian miraculously following her lead let out a heavy sigh and parted his jaws, allowing her to lean in dangerously close to inspect his blackening gums.
"I was raised by witches," Hange said, her voice slightly muffled as she peered into the dragon’s maw. "I learned their botany, their anatomy, their science. But I am as human as you are. No magic and no spells."
Levi’s eyebrows drew together, a dark scowl settling on his face. "Then how do I trust you to cure my dragon?"
"I might not be a witch, but I am a healer," Hange said, pulling back and wiping her gloved fingers on a rag. She looked at him over the rim of her glasses with dead seriousness. "And real witches don't use magic to heal anyway. They use medicine, observation, and logic. Magic is just a story humans tell themselves when they're too ignorant to understand science."
She reached out, gently pressing a wooden tongue depressor against Flavian’s tongue, studying the thick, tar-like film coating his throat.
"Now, soldier," Hange murmured softly, "tell me your name. And the name of this handsome little thing."
Levi crossed his arms tightly over his chest, leaning against a cold stone pillar. "Name's Levi. And he's Flavian."
"AWWWW! Flavian! What a cute name for such a big boy!" Hange cooed, completely abandoning her serious persona for a second to playfully tickle the underside of Flavian’s massive chin. Flavian let out another low, content rumble, leaning his heavy skull into her hand.
Levi glared at his dragon, who was actively leaning into the enemy's affection.
"Now then..." Hange’s tone shifted instantly, her eyes darkening as she stepped back and looked down at the heavy, discarded armor Levi had just removed. "For the healer's diagnosis. You said the Court called this a 'plague,' right?"
"That’s what the Church's doctors said," Levi replied. "They claimed it was a divine curse spreading from beast to beast."
"Nonsense," Hange spat, stepping over to the heavy iron breastplate on the floor. She knelt down, running a gloved finger along the inner padded lining—the part that pressed directly against Flavian’s chest scales for hours every day. "Your dragon wasn't infected by a air-borne plague, Levi. He was poisoned."
Levi went completely still. "Poisoned? He hasn't eaten anything out of the ordinary. I feed him myself."
"Not by food," Hange said grimly. She picked up a small scraping tool, shaved off a dark, greasy residue clinging to the inside of the leather straps, and held it up to the lantern light.
"It's in the armor," Hange revealed, her voice dropping into a chilling, furious whisper. "A slow-acting, heat-activated toxin derived from Black Tallow. Every time Flavian flew, his body heat warmed the metal, melting the oil so it absorbed directly through his scales into his bloodstream. It’s rotting his lungs from the outside in."
She looked up at Levi, her dark eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Someone in your city isn't just letting these dragons die, Levi. They are systematically murdering them."
"Can he be healed?" Levi’s voice was barely a whisper, the raw, frantic edge of a man holding onto his last remaining lifeline slipping through his composure.
Hange looked up from the blackened residue, her expression softening as she met his icy, guarded gaze. She nodded firmly.
"Yes. He needs rest and a concentrated herbal stew that will flush the Black Tallow out of his system and wash away the toxin. It will be painful for him, but his body is strong so he will survive this."
Levi let out a quiet, shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing against Flavian's cold, scaled jaw.
"It is beyond suspicious that the Church’s so-called high healers have not found this cause," Hange continued, her voice hardening with sharp, logical fury as she paced around her workstation, pulling jars of dried silver-leaf and crushed moon-root down from the shelves. "Which means, like I said, this is entirely planned. They are deliberately sabotaging the Dragoon Guard. They want to weaken the kingdom’s greatest strength, strip the Monarchy of its sky power, and make the people reliant on the Church's protection."
She stopped, turning to Levi with a heavy, earnest look.
"Normally, I would never involve myself in the ugly squabbles of humans. I built a life in this forest specifically to escape your wars," she admitted softly, resting her hand over Flavian’s snout as the dragon gave a sleepy, trusting sigh. "But dragons are noble, magnificent creatures. They should not be collateral damage to human greed and violence."
Hange stepped closer to Levi, looking him straight in the eyes without a single trace of fear.
"I urge you, Sir Levi... you must save the rest of them. I will prepare the antidote for Flavian, and I swear on my life I will take care of him here until he is fully recovered. But I can't leave this forest, and Flavian cannot fly back into the mouth of the wolf just yet."
She reached out, gently touching the sleeve of his uniform where his coat bore the faded crest of his fallen squad.
"Can you do it, Levi? Can you go back, save the other dragons, and stop whoever is doing this?"
Levi stared down at the blackened grease on Hange’s fingers, his mind racing. Truthfully, he didn't give a damn about court politics, the King’s crown, or the Church’s crusade for power. He had joined the Dragoon Guard for a roof over his head and a way to protect the few people he loved, only to watch Isabel, Furlan, and his mother die anyway. The realm could burn for all he cared.
But Hange was right about one thing: the dragons were innocent. Beasts who knew nothing of human greed were being systematically poisoned in their stalls, choking on their own blood while locked in iron cages.
Still, a soldier didn't survive the Underground by handing his trust over to a stranger with manic eyes and a cottage full of strange herbs.
"Only if I see real progress in Flavian's healing," Levi said, his voice cold and uncompromising. "I don't make deals on promises."
Hange didn't look offended in the slightest. Instead, a small, understanding smile touched her lips, and she gave a firm, brisk nod. "Fair enough. That’s more than reasonable."
She wiped her hands on a cloth and looked around the vast, chilly cavern before glancing back at Levi.
"I assume you’ll want to sleep beside him tonight," Hange said casually. "And I certainly won't be sleeping. I need to get a large cauldron brewing so I can boil down the moon-root and silver-leaf into a concentrated liquid before dawn. So... it’s set. We’re spending the night here in the cave."
She turned toward the mouth of the cavern, pulling a heavy canvas satchel over her shoulder. "Let me go back to my cottage to bring over the rest of the supplies. If you're going to stay awake for a bit, I’d appreciate the extra hands carrying the ironware."
Before stepping out into the cold night air, Hange walked over to where Flavian lay prone on the stone floor. She knelt beside his massive, midnight head and gently smoothed a cool, aromatic salve over the jagged scratches he’d sustained during their rough crash through the canopy.
"Hold on, baby," Hange murmured, her tone impossibly soft as she leaned in and pressed a gentle peck right onto the tip of Flavian's scaled nose. "I’ll be right back."
Flavian’s tail gave a lazy, contented thump against the stone, and he let out a deep, rumbling purr that echoed through the cavern like a sleeping furnace.
Levi stood with his arms crossed, staring dead-eyed at his own dragon.
Traitor, Levi thought, glaring hard enough to burn holes through the back of Flavian's skull. Fifteen years I've fed you, cleaned your stalls, and brushed your hide, and you sell your soul to a stranger for a nose kiss.
Flavian opened one heavy, golden eye, looking up at Levi as if completely unbothered by his rider's jealousy, before letting out a soft, satisfied huff.
Levi let out a long, weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hurry up, woman," he muttered, turning to follow Hange out into the fog. "The sooner we get your cauldron, the sooner I can get this poison out of my beast."
***
For two whole days, Levi hardly left Flavian’s side.
The change in the dragon was undeniable. The foul, tar-like discharge from his nostrils had thinned out, and the agonizing, rattling cough that had plagued his chest was slowly subsiding into steady, deep breaths. Hange’s stew was working. But even as Levi prepared his mind for the inevitable journey back to the capital, he couldn't leave yet, not until Hange finished refining the concentrated antidote into portable vials that could treat an entire stable of infected beasts.
And Hange was running on absolute fumes. She hadn't slept a full hour in forty-eight hours, her eyes bloodshot behind her wire-rimmed glasses, her hands stained dark with crushed roots and iron soot as she stoked the fire beneath a massive copper kettle.
"I am sorry, Sir Levi," Hange gasped out, wiping a trail of sweat from her forehead with the back of her soot-stained forearm.
"Just Levi," he corrected quietly, leaning against a wooden crate with his arms crossed.
"Right... Just Levi," she nodded, giving him a weary, strained smile. "This is my first time brewing this antidote in such a large batch. The extraction process for silver-leaf requires constant heat regulation, so it's taking much longer than I calculated." She blew a stray lock of dark hair out of her face. "But we have to make it quick. The longer we take, the more dragons suffer. We need enough to save as many as we can."
Over those two days, Levi had watched her obsessively. He had confirmed what she said was true: she possessed no grand dark magic, no mystical incantations. She was just a brilliant, stubborn human living entirely alone in the deep woods. Yet, despite her impressive knowledge of anatomy and alchemy, she was still raw, making small, amateur stumbles, frantically re-reading old leather-bound journals, and second-guessing her measurements as she worked through trial and error. She was trying to do the work of a whole coven single-handedly.
Levi looked at her, his dark gray eyes softening just a fraction. "What happened to them?" he asked, his voice low. "The witches who raised you."
Hange paused, her wooden stirring paddle hovering just above the bubbling, dark-green liquid. The manic light in her eyes flickered out, replaced by a cold, hollow shadow.
"Hah... they left me," she said, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. "When the Church launched the grand purge, my teachers saw the writing on the wall. They told me I shouldn't have to die for their 'sins.' They dropped me off at a human village on the outskirts of the territory, hoping I’d blend in and live a quiet life."
She tightened her grip on the wooden paddle, her knuckles turning white.
"I couldn't just stay there. A week later, I snuck back into the forest to find them. But by the time I reached our sanctuary... they were all gone. Slaughtered by your men. The King's Dragoon Guard and the Church's inquisitors."
Levi’s jaw tightened. He lowered his head, a heavy knot of shame coiling tight in his gut.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth.
In reality, Levi’s own elite unit, the aerial vanguards had never been tasked with hunting women in the woods. Their blood was spilled on the front lines, fighting foreign kingdoms high in the sky atop their dragons. The slaughter of healers and herbalists was the dirty work carried out by low-ranking infantry, mercenaries, and Church zealots seeking easy bounties.
Yet, as he looked at Hange who was exhausted, broken-hearted, and still working herself to the bone to save the very dragons that belonged to the realm that destroyed her family, the crest on his uniform felt heavier than ever.