Barbatos stepped forward, the heat radiating from his body pressing back the cold like a defiant hearth. "None of that. I want you to rise. I want you at my side—not beneath me, not behind me—as mine. As a general. As a Dragon who remembers what she is."
She looked away, the permafrost cracking slightly beneath her shifting weight. "You say that now, but I remember how you looked at me back then. Like I was something that needed to be silenced."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "I looked at you... like someone I couldn't afford to lean on."
His words struck deep, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a dry, bitter laugh. "At least you're honest now."
He studied her closely. Even in this desolate cold, her presence was radiant. Not soft—never soft—but undeniable. Her dragon body bore scars, not just on the surface of her scales but etched deep into her spirit. She had endured. She had fought. And she had built something from the ashes.
"I've watched you," he said. "Your people thrive. Even here, in this wasteland of wind and frost. You kept them alive when no one else would. You protected them."
Lyanna's lips curled. "And you thought I was weak."
"I was wrong."
The words stilled her. She blinked once, then gave the smallest of smiles. "That's twice now you've surprised me. Don't make it a habit."
They resumed walking. This time, the silence felt heavier—like ice that had begun, at last, to crack.
---
Eventually, they reached a plateau that overlooked a broken coastline, jagged and drowned in perpetual mist. Below, half-shrouded by the fog, stood a settlement—constructed from black stone and streaks of crimson metal, glowing faintly from hidden geothermal veins beneath the ice.
"Your people built this?" he asked.
"We did," she replied, her voice colored with fierce pride. "With our claws and fangs. With memory. With the scraps your empire left behind."
He arched a brow. "They still worship me?"
Lyanna smirked. "All of them. Some revere what you've become. Others cling to what you were. A symbol. A storm. The devouring fire that toppled tyrants."
He nodded, satisfied. "That's enough. Better worship than obedience. Fear fades. Memory lingers."
They stood together, side by side on the cliff's edge, the wind swirling around them in ghostly dances.
"You came to make me yours," she said. "But you'll need more than ambition and old blood to do that. You'll have to know me. Not the shadow you remember."
Barbatos turned to her, a sly grin forming. "Then let's begin now. Come with me. One night. No commands. No banners. No chains. Just us."
Her eyes rose, one brow arching. "Are you asking me on a... human date?"
"I'm offering you a challenge," he replied, voice low with mischief. "Talk to me. Test me. Outwit me. Choose your weapon."
She folded her arms, feigning indifference. "And if I refuse?"
"I stay," he said, already turning toward the descending trail. "Every day. Until the sea thaws. Until your warriors start to wonder if their Lady's gone soft."
"…Bastard," she muttered under her breath.
But when he walked, she followed.
---
They came to a quiet ledge nestled between two glacial ridges. The ice was cracked and warm with steam—geothermal fissures beneath the surface vented heat into the air, forming a rare sanctuary of mist and warmth in this endless frost.
Barbatos conjured a fire—not of orange or red, but of deep violet gray flame. It shimmered and danced, casting reflections in the frost that looked like ghostly wings.
He sat casually against a jagged stone, his coat pooled around him like ink. Lyanna took her place across from him, poised and elegant, her fingers twitching behind her like a pendulum of judgment.
She met his gaze directly. "Why do you really want me?"
He didn't rush to answer.
"Because I need someone who understands me. Not my power. Not my conquests. Me. The burden I carry. The hunger I can't silence. And you…" he exhaled slowly. "You were the first to look at me not as a god. Not as a king. But as a mistake."
"Charming," she said dryly.
"It means you see what others won't. That kind of honesty tempers ambition."
"And if I don't want to temper you? What if I want the skies again? What if I want more than to be your leash?"
He leaned forward, voice quieter now. "Then I'll give you skies no one else can reach. Not to chain you—but to fly beside me."
She studied him. And for a fleeting moment, she didn't see the Devourer, the Void Emperor, or the monster kings feared. She saw the hatchling she once carried. The flame she once protected.
"…You've changed," she said softly.
"I haven't. But how I see the world has."
She smirked. "You still flirt like a hatchling."
"I'm many things," he said with a grin. "But boring isn't one of them."
This time, when she laughed—it was real.
And the frost between them… finally began to melt.
---
Later, as the wind blew softer and the night thickened like ink around them, they spoke of other things—her dreams before she bore him, her ambitions to rule not just this plane but many others, the whispers of dragon gods she heard echoing in her bloodline
She listened to his—not as a rival, not even as a mother—but as a woman who, for the first time in decades, saw her son not just as a force of nature, but as something mortal. Flawed. Real.
He spoke of goals no being should carry, of how every realm he touched seemed to whisper of their need for salvation... or domination. And she, the exile queen, no longer judged. She remembered dreams she'd long buried beneath frost and regret—the dreams of flying freely, of ruling not just with claws, but with will.
By the time they returned to the edge of her settlement, no answer had passed her lips. She hadn't pledged herself, nor had she refused him.
But she lingered.
And Barbatos knew—he had moved the first stone.
---
The wind screamed across the frost-split peaks of the Forgotten North, its voice shrill, violent, like the cries of ghosts who had frozen before their time. Snow danced in jagged flurries, caught in the swirling rage of the mountains. Barbatos stood upon a crest of ice-blackened stone, his towering frame motionless, his presence immense.
He wore no helmet—his face, crowned with jagged horns and framed by flowing locks of dark hair, was bared to the fury of the storm. His long cloak whipped behind him like a shadow desperate to break free, and the moon above reflected in the runes carved into his clothes—symbols of domination.
He had not come here to feel the wind.
He had come to reclaim something more sacred than power.
Behind him, Lyanna stood tall. Her full draconic form had shrunk, not from fear, but to meet this moment in the form of memory and meaning. She wore her mantle of white dragon beast fur, thick and heavy with the weight of years. Her armor was forged from white leather and bone, fitted perfectly to her curves. The iron circlet atop her head was dull, worn—but in her bearing, it looked like a crown forged from pride itself.
She had not bowed when he approached.
But she hadn't struck him either.
That, for her, was a gesture of unimaginable significance.
"You're quiet," Barbatos said, his voice low and layered, like two glaciers grinding against one another.
"I'm listening," Lyanna replied, her voice wind-worn but clear.
"After nine years, that's all I get?"
Her nostrils flared. "You came to gloat? To show me what you've become?"
His chuckle was a sound devoid of warmth. "I came to offer you the sky."
That made her pause. She turned, fully now, and looked into his eyes. Her own gleamed red beneath the shifting moonlight.
"You always want something. You always did."
He smiled. "This time, I want everything. Unity. Fire. Blood. The Tal Plane is fractured—dragons hiding in caves, nobles hoarding scraps of lineage. I want to rebuild it. No... I want to remake it. But I don't want to leave you behind."
She narrowed her eyes. "So you want me to kneel?"
"I want you to stand beside me," he said. "Not as a relic. Not as a regret. But as mine. A general. A queen of ice, beside a king of void."
Her tail lashed the snow, agitation flickering beneath her stillness. "And your power—your strange, unnatural gift—you think you will share it? That they should?"
"They already have," he said. "With my consorts. My commanders. Those worthy. You are more than worthy. You were supposed to be the first."
The wind howled again, but it sounded smaller now.
They stood there—Black Flame and Frost Queen—on the edge of a world that had tried to forget them. But the world would soon remember.
"Why now?" she asked, and the question carried a thousand unsaid meanings.
"Because the time for waiting has passed. Because war brews beyond the horizon. Because I have the power now. I can feel it watching. Judging. Preparing to act."
She looked away, jaw tight. The memories threatened to surface. Memories of her fleeing the throne. Of him burning his way into legend.
"You think I left because I feared war?"
"No," he said gently. "You left because you can't win; I would have done the same.."
She clenched her fists. The storm grew louder.
"And now?" she asked.
"Now, you have me."
He stepped forward, his form towering. Shadows pooled beneath his feet. His presence devoured space.
"You live here in exile not because you failed—but because you chose not to fight. You chose to run when the world demanded blood. And I see that not as weakness... but as a strength I need beside me."
"You would trust me?" she asked, voice low.
"No," he said simply. "I would keep you beside me. That's safer."
A bark of laughter escaped her lips. "You arrogant hatchling."
"You proud exile."
Their eyes locked again—fire against frost, pride against pride.
He extended his claw. Not as a son. Not as a conqueror. But as a king, I offer a place to one who he see as worthy.
"Come south with me. The world is changing. Don't let it pass you by."
She stared at the hand. Rage, grief, longing—they all warred within her heart. How many nights had she imagined this? Not an apology. Not submission. But an invitation. Not once had she allowed herself to believe it would come.
But now it had.
And then, without a word, she reached out.
And took it.
---
Later, beneath the icy stillness of her sanctuary—beneath the carved banners of the forgotten wyrm-tribe that once worshipped her—they sat across from one another beside a crystal fire that burned violet and pale blue, flickering in a silent circle of carved stone.
"You've really changed," she murmured.
"You mean I've learned to speak out what needs to be said?" he smirked.
She gave a quiet laugh. "You were crueler before."
"I'm still cruel. But now it has direction."
"You didn't have that before?" she asked.
"I thought I did. But back then, my fire had no shape. It was weak and attacked everything. Even the things I wanted to protect."
She studied his face in the firelight. "And now you think you've grown?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know. Because I came back here. Not to demand. But to ask."
She extended a claw and traced glowing runes into the air—ancient, primal glyphs of draconic sorcery. As the marks shimmered, they reacted to the void that pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
"Your power… it wasn't meant to be shared. It feels like a wound in reality. A scar the world cannot close."
"It is both a burden and a crown," he said. "But I will bear it. And I will wield it. And I want you to shape the world I build with me."
She stared into the flame, the silence between them heavy but no longer hostile. The years had chipped away her rage but left behind a deep, frozen sorrow.
Finally, her voice came—low and resolute.
"Then I will fly with you, Barbatos. Until the sky burns. Until the stars scream."
He nodded, a grim satisfaction settling in his eyes.
"Then let them scream," he said. "Because they will remember us. And they will kneel."
And for the first time in years, the wind seemed to still.
Two black dragons had found each other.