Chapter 33 - Arvoren

Dragonfire rends the night sky above the mountains like lightning, sickly green against storm-black clouds. My wings cut through smoke-laden air as I circle higher, watching rival dragons wheel and dive around Millrath's peaks. Their scales flash silver and gold in the intermittent blaze of combat—House Draven's forces testing our defenses, searching for weakness.

They will not attack yet. Even as night falls, they wait. They intend on starving us out just a little longer.

I dive, twisting above a hail of arrows from the castle walls, and release a torrent of flame that catches one of Draven's youngest in the wing as he dives too close to the city. The dragon screams, the sound echoing off the mountain peaks that cradle my city like ancient teeth. He spirals away, trailing smoke, but two more take his place, their shadows passing over the emptied streets below like death's own herald, trying to herd me and my men back toward the lake.

My people have fled underground, hiding in cellars and catacombs while their world burns above them. Through the chaos of battle, I catch glimpses of the destruction—buildings aflame, walls scarred by claw marks, the twisted corpses of beasts littering the streets. The Gods' creatures still prowl below, seeking prey, though most have retreated from the dragonfire that rains from above.

A flash of movement below catches my eye—something that doesn't belong.

There, on the ruined edge of the sanctum, stands Calliope. Even now, amid all this ruin, she commands attention like a flame in darkness. Her chains glint in the firelight as she watches the battle unfold, her hair whipping in the wind that howls between the peaks.

She holds up one hand toward me, seeking my attention—in her fist, a bright sphere of magic crackles, emanating white light across the broken glass of the sanctum.

I bank sharply, avoiding another dragon's attack, and spiral down toward her, signaling for the other shifters of Millrath to take point and hold off the horde. The transformation takes me as I land, scales melting to skin, wings folding away until I stand human once more, breathing hard as though I'd fought my way back to her.

She turns at the sound of my landing, and the look in her eyes steals my breath more surely than any battle. Sorrow mingles with steel in her gaze, beautiful and terrible, a blade in moonlight. Around us, the sanctum's blackened, shattered walls hold memories of our binding ceremony, of power unleashed, something broken that can never be repaired. This place is an open wound between us.

Before I can stop myself, I cross the space and pull her into my arms, holding her as though I could keep her here by force of will alone. She's warm against me, though her chains press cold between us at our feet, an ever-present reminder of the barriers I've built.

When I pull back, our faces are close enough that I feel her breath against my skin.

"Calliope," I murmur, the word nearly lost in the wind. "If I thought … if I could believe you wouldn't run from me the first chance you had, I'd—"

Her hand lifts to my cheek, silencing me with a touch that burns like ice.

"Arvoren," she says softly, her voice carrying an edge of something that cuts straight through my defenses. “If you ever hope to understand love, you have to believe in it first. Love means believing someone will return to you … even when they don't have to."

The words strike deeper than any blade. My throat tightens as shame floods through me.

"I don't know if I'm capable of that," I murmur. "I know what I am. You've seen it.”

She holds my gaze steadily, her voice soft but unyielding. "Then let me go."

The words fall between us like snow, delicate and cold.

"Give me that choice, Arvoren. Let go, even if it leads me away."

The force of her words, their venom, sinks into me. It stills my breath. Above us, to the north, dragons clash in the steel-gray sky darkening toward night, their shadows passing over us like omens. The mountaintops around Millrath seem to lean inward, watching, waiting to see what I will choose.

My hand closes over hers where it rests against my cheek, fingers tightening. The thought of her walking away feels like losing the last light in a world of shadows. But her gaze doesn't waver, and I know that this moment—this choice—will define us forever.

A beast screams in the city below, the sound mixing with the clash of steel and the roar of flames. Through the broken glass of the sanctum's dome, I see enemy dragons drawing closer, their wings casting moving shadows across the surface of the lake like ripples in the dark water. Time grows short.

"Calliope," I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotions I cannot name. The wind whips around us, carrying ash and snow and the distant screams of battle. "I don't want to lose you. But I will …" My throat constricts, the words fighting me as I force them out. "I will undo the chains." The admission tears from me like flesh from bone, like scales ripped from living dragonhide. Every instinct in me rebels against it, but I press on. "I'll lift the curse now and fly you beyond the city walls, beyond the reach of this war. You'll be free to choose what comes next, to go wherever you wish."

Her eyes widen, storm-gray depths catching the reflected dragonfire that illuminates the ruined sanctum from above us. Something brilliant and bright flickers there. Hope—real hope. I have given her hope. For a moment, she is transformed by it, more beautiful than I have ever seen her, and my heart soars despite itself. I have given her this. I have made her shine like this.

But then, like clouds passing over the sun, her expression shifts. My stomach drops. The joy dims, replaced by something harder, more knowing. Her lips press together as understanding dawns. At once, I have lost her once more, though she hasn't moved an inch.

"You'd do that?" she asks, and there's a new edge to her voice, sharp as winter frost. "Truly?"

"Yes." I can hardly breathe past the word, past the weight of what I'm offering. My hands tremble where they rest against her waist. "If it means you'll live. If it means you can survive this chaos …" I swallow hard, tasting ash and defeat. "I'll set you free."

She studies my face for a long moment, snowflakes catching in her dark hair like a crown of stars. The wind tugs at her dress, at the chains that still bind her ankles, making them scrape softly against the stone floor. Above us, beyond the shattered dome of the sanctum, dragons wheel and dive, their shadows passing over her face like omens.

When she speaks again, her voice is careful, measured, each word placed like a footstep on treacherous ground. "And otherwise? Under any other circumstance, would you ever consider letting me go?"

The air grows thick with tension, with all the things I cannot say. My silence stretches, becomes its own answer, more damning than any words could be.

"If you win this war," she presses, stepping back though my hands still rest at her waist, fingers tightening reflexively to keep her close. Her chains scrape against the floor, the sound like high, mocking laughter from the dark. "If you survive this night … will you hunt me down again? Will I ever truly be free of you?"

Thunder rolls across the peaks, the sound deep enough to shake the foundations of the castle. Through the broken windows of the sanctum, I see House Morwen's forces joining House Draven's in the sky over the mountains, their dragons' scales gleaming like fresh blood in the firelight. Their wings beat against the night, drawing closer with each passing moment. The air grows thick with the scent of smoke and snow and inevitability, with the knowledge that some truths, once spoken, can never be undone.

I draw breath, steel myself. "Not as long as I still breathe."

In the distance, another dragon screams, the sound mixing with the howl of the wind, with the beating of my heart, with the soft, sharp intake of her breath as she realizes exactly what I am offering—and what I never will.

The words fall like stones into still water. Calliope pulls away from me completely, and the loss of her warmth is like a physical wound.

"No, then." Her voice catches, breaks. "I'll stay here in the city."

"Calliope—"

"Don't." She laughs, the sound sharp and bitter as winter wind, arms folded around herself tightly, as if to keep herself together. "You'd let me go now, knowing you'd just hunt me down again when it's over. Knowing you'd chain me up all over again, only this time …" She meets my eyes, and the pain there steals my breath. "This time, I'd know exactly what freedom felt like before you took it away."

I reach for her, but she steps back, closer to the sanctum's broken edge. Behind her, the night is alive with fire and wings and death.

"I love you," I say roughly, the admission torn from my chest like a blade from a wound. "Isn't that enough?"

"No." Tears freeze on her cheeks, glinting like diamonds in the shifting light. "Love without trust isn't love at all. It's just another form of possession."

A dragon screams nearby—too close. The sanctum trembles, bits of glass and stone raining down around us. Through the storm of battle, I see more shapes emerging from the clouds, more enemies drawing near. Soon, there will be no choice left to make.

"Stay with me," I find myself saying, though I know it's futile. "Stay, and when this is over—"

"When this is over, nothing will change." She backs away another step. "You'll never trust me. You'll never love me. Not in any way that matters."

The truth of her words cuts deeper than any sword. I want to deny it, want to promise her things will be different, but we both know it would be a lie. I am what I am—a creature of shadows and control, of power and possession. I cannot change my nature any more than she can change hers.

Above us, the storm builds, snow mixing with ash and dragonfire. The enemy draws closer with each passing moment, and still we stand here, locked in this impossible moment, neither willing to break it first.

"Then stay," I say finally, my voice rough. "Stay, if you should like, knowing what I am. Knowing I will never let you go."

She looks at me for a long moment, tears freezing on her lashes. "Yes," she whispers. "At least this way, I choose my own cage."