My father always told me that the forest will always speak to you, you only have to listen. Most hunters never did—they were always too loud, impatient, and too eager to see their kill hanging from a rack before the sun set. But they carried voices in the wind, tucked whispers in the rustle of branches, and left trails written in bent grass and torn earth.
From every broken twig to every faint depression in the mud was a word in the language of survival. Today, for some odd reason, the forest's voice was mute, as if it was holding its breath. Even the crows didn't even dare let out even a single caw, and that silence pressed against my chest like a weight.
I had my bow at the ready with an arrow already notched, my boots sank through the moss as I moved. The deer I've been hunting for over an hour passed through here—the sharp edge of the hooves leaving broad tracks in the damp soil. A stag, and a heavy one at that. Its prints dragged slightly with each step, which meant that it was getting tired. Vulnerable.
I brushed the soil with my fingers as I squatted next to the tracks. The tracks veered toward the creek, where the waterline shimmered faintly through the trees. My stomach started growling at the thought of stew, the kind that mother used to make before her passing. Venison meant that there would be food for the village, for me, and if I was lucky, there would probably be a spare coin or two if I offered some cuts to the butcher.
But something was pulling my attention past the trail, tugging at me. It smelled metallic, sharp. It was faint, but wrong. It didn't belong here.
Blood.
My body froze as every nerve in my body tightened. It wasn't the blood of a deer. This was thicker, heavier. My hands instinctively reached for the knife at my belt, though it wouldn't even do much to a wolf. I slowly followed the scent of the stag's tail and into the thicker brush.
The further I moved in the silence deepend. No birds. No rustling hares. Even the wind remained silent, as if the forest itself was wary of what lay ahead.
Then I saw it.
At first, I thought it was nothing more than just a shadow that spread across the clearing. But as I made my way closer, my breath caught in my throat.
A wing.
It had no feathers; it was nothing like a hawk or owl; it was a huge, leathery expanse strethched across the earth, torn and bleeding. Black as midnight, the surface shimmered faintly in the weak shafts of sunlight. It twitched—weak, pained—the ground trembled with the movement.
My heart hammered into my chest as I stumbled backwards. A dragon.
All my life I've heard of stories. Tales told by camp fires they were warnings that Queen Maris created herself. They were said to be cunning and cruel monsters, being able to peirce through armor and fire, able to melt stone. To see one in person is like inviting deathing to your front door.
But here it was. Injured. Dying.
Its massive body lay curled near the rocks, dark scales dulled with dirt and blood. One of its wingls was bent at an unnatural angle, piereced through with what looked like a jagged spear. The other wing was torn nearly off as it dragged limply across the ground. Its breathing was ragged, each exhale a rumble that shivered throug my bones.
I couldn't move. I couldn't think. My bow hung slack in my hand, the arrow trembling in my fingers. I should be running back to the village, to warn them, to tell someone—anyone—that there was a dragon in the forest.
But my body refused to move. It felt like my feet were glued there.
Its eye opened and was fixed on me. Golden. Deep, molten gold, the kind that flickered like sunlight on molten metal. My breath hitched as I was expecting to see hunger or malace but insteat there was only pain.
But there was also something else.
Recognition.
The arrow clattered against the roots as the bow slipped throgh my grasp. A strange warmth threaded through my chest, almost like it was trying to pull me closer, as if the air between us had thickened into something alive. My heartbeat slowed as it steadied into a rhythem not entirly my own.
A rumble vibrated through its chest that shook the ground. My mind filled with what seemed like word that were half-formed, not spoken but felt.
Not yet. It's too soon.
I stumbled back, gasping. The words never came from its mouth but from with inside my head.
I pressed a hand against my temple, heart pounding all over again. "No… no, this isn't real," I whispered. Dragons can't speak. They can't share thoughts. That's just something that happens in fairy-tales right?
The dragon's gaze didn't waver.
Its wings dragged heavily as it shifted again, shadows spilling across the ground like ink. The sheer size of it made me realize that if it wasn't wounded, if it was strong and whole, I wouldn't stand a chance. But as it laid here bleeding, it looked almost… vulnerable.
The bond tugged on my chest again, sharp and undeniable. My knees buckled and somehow found myself kneeling before it withouth meaning to. My hand hovered in the air, trembling, as if some invisible thread was pulling me closer.
Its golden eye narrowed as the same voice returned to my head.
Hunter. Chosen.
I caught my breath as I realize it somehow knew who I was.
It felt like the forest was pressing down on me, close and suffocating, but something was keeping me from leaving. Every instinct was screaming at me to run, to get the guards or warn the others so that way they can slay this creature before it could heal and terrorise the village. At least that's what a loyal subject of the Queen would do. That's what any hunter sworn to the law should do.
But I didn't.
Instead, I found myself moving closer, step by cautious step, as though the dragon's gaze had anchored me. Its breath rasped out again, hot and metallic, stirring the leaves at my feet. I caught the scent of smoke, although it was faint.
I swallowed to clear the lump in my throat, forcing out the words that clung to it. "You're dying."
It sounded foolish, but I didn't know what else could I say?
It blinked slowly, and the strange pressure filled my head. This time clear. Sharper.
Not yet.
The words rattled my bones, a sound that no mere human could ever hear. My hand went to my chest, gripping at my tunic as if I could wrench the feeling out. It wasn't just hearing—it was knowing.
It shifted its massive head slightly, its breath gusting over me like bellows. Even injured, its presence dwarfed me. Its wond in its wing oozed a thick, dark blood that shimmered strangely in the lightl—half crimson, the other half shadow, like the night. My hunter's eye taced all the gashes, the embedded shaft of a barbed spear jutting from between its scales. It was obvious that whoever had struck it didn't finish the job.
I should've felt relief. One more push and it would be done, no longer a threat.
But as I continued to stare, I saw something else in its struggle. The shallow breathing from the rise and fall in its chest. The way its claws twitched against the earth curling inward, not in rage but in pain.
I realized that this wasn't a predator from the stories.
This was prey.
A battle waged through my head as I clenched at the sachel to my side that carried bandages, a flash of water, and a small pouch of herbs. It was all the things that a hunter carried just in case if an injury occured far from home.
If anyone was to see me or find out, there would be no forgiveness. The Queen made it clear that if anyone was caught aiding a dragon would be arested and put to death for treason.
Once again, the invisible thread pulled harder as the bond weighed heavily on my chest.
I cursed under my breath.
The dragon's eye tracked me as I slowly made my way into the clearing. Its breath rumbled low. I raised both hands, palms open, forgetting my bow that still laid at the tree behind me. "I'm not here to kill you." I said, my voice betraying me at how hoarse it sounded. "Not yet, anyway."
It exhaled, a sound halfway between a growl and a sigh, and lowered its head halfway to the earth. My heart hammering away at my chest so hard that I thought it was going to break through it. Was that… trust? Or exhaustion?
I knelt beside the torn wing and caught the stench of blood and charred flesh. The spear head was in deep, cruelly angled so that every movement tore the wound wider. I started feeling nautious as something built up in my throat, but I pushed it down and forced myself to study it the way I would a stag's wound. Clean the flesh. Draw the weapon. Bind the tear.
"God's help me," I muttered, bracing my hands on the shaft of the spear.
Its golden eyes narrowed on me as its chest rumbled. My fingers trembling aginst the wood. This is completely insane. One wrong move and I'd be nothing more than a smear of ash.
Do it.
The voice jolted through me like electricity, raw and commanding.
Without a second thought, I wrenched the spear free.
The dragon roared. The sound thudered, a blast of heat and fury that rattled the trees and shook the marrow in my bones. I threw myself back, covering my head, expecting fire, expecting death.
But it never came.
The roar dwindled into a low gron. Blood spilling freely now, dark and glistening, but the tension in its body eased only slightly.
I scrambled forward again, pressing the cloth against the wound, my hands slick with blood. The bandages were laughably small against such a wound, but I bound what I could, layering strips of cloth until the bleeding slowed. My herbs—worth more than I could spare—were grounded between my fingers and pressed into the torn flesh. They'd never been tested on anything biger than a wolf, but they'll have to do.
The dragon shuddered, its eye closing briefly.
I couldn't keep my eyes off the creature that lay before me as I gasped for air. Sweat was plastering my hair to my brow.
"What have I donw?" I muttered.
I should have let it die. Should have returned to the village and report about its death, claimed the credit for myself. That would've meant coin, praise, maybe even a title. But I had to save the life of an enemy older than the kingdom itslef.
The bond pulsed warmly in my chest again, answering the thought before I could fully form it.
I'm not your enemy.
I jerked, my heart lurching at the word's weight in my mind.
"Then what are you then?" I whispered.
The dragon's golden eye opened once again, fixing me with a stare that felt as ancient as the mountains. For a long moment, the silence stretched between us. Then, faintly, deep as stone, the reply came.
Yours.
What have I done?
The question gnawed at me, louder than the silence of the forest. A hunter doesn't save its prey. A loyal subject never shields the enemy of the crown. My mother's worrd echoed in the back of my mind, stern but weary, the way it had been after my father fell in the Queen's wars. We survive by the law, Kael. Break it, and you'll lose more than your freedom. You'll lose your life.
And yet, here stood kneeling beside a breathing act of treason.
Its eye never left me golden and unyielding. It shifted slightly as its wing dragged in the dirt. The earth shivered under its weight. That strange warmth tightened in my chest. Not a threat. Not a warning. Something else.
A bond.
I forced myself to my feet as I shook my head. "This is madness," I muttered, pacing the edge of the clearing. "Absolute madness."
The village was only a half-day's walk at most. If I left now, I could return before nightfall, bring back a patrol, lead them straight to this spot. The Queen's decree was clear, proof of a dragon brought reward, not punishment. If anything, I could say I tracked it myself and that the kill belonged to me.
Coin. Recognition. A chance to climb out of the mud and shadows of the hunter's life.
When I finally looked back at the dragon, the thought turned sour. Removing the spear had stilled its bleeding, but the bandages were already soaked throught, dark and glistening. Its chest rose and fell with shuddering breaths, but there was still strength in it still, a stubborn rhythm. It wasn't ready to die.
But what made matters worse is something in me didn't want it to either.
I combed my hand through my hair, cursing under my breath. If anyone saw me covered in dragon blood, they'd know. Hunters were trained to finish the job not to patch them up. My hesitaition would damn me surely as any confession.
I forced myself to think.
Eventually, word would spread. Hunters combed these forests daily. They would finish the job that I couldn't if it was still alive by then. And if the Queen was to find out it was here in her forest… no, the outcome was certain.
Yours.
The words echoed in my head as a jolt of electricity made my pulse quicken. I spun around, spotting its golden eye that remained fixed on me. But it never moved.
"No," I hissed at myself more than at it. "You're not mine. You are nothing to me."
Liar. It answered with quiet certainty.
I staggered back, breath coming out fast. I've heard stories of how witches, of spirits that wormed their way into men's heads, twisting them into slaves. Was that what this was? Was I being binded against my will?
I pressed a hand to my chest. The warmth there wasn't cruel. It was steady. Calming. It felt the same way my father's hand had felt on my shoulder when I was a boy, guiding me through the woods on my first hunt.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
This bond wasn't something I could tell anyone. Not the elder hunters, not the priests who listened to confessions. I couldn't even mention this to Lyra. The Queen would have me dragged out in chains with one slip of the tongue.
No, this will be something that will have to stay buried.
My eyes flung open as I stared at its wounds. "If I help you," I said low, swallowing at the lump in my throat. "You stay hidden. No roaring. No fires. Nothing that will draw anyone's attention. If anyone finds you, we're both dead."
Its chest rumbled faintly, not quite a growl, not quite a laugh.
Agreed.
I let out a long, shaking breath and bent to gather my scattered gear. My bow lay abandoned in the dirt, the arrow bent. I slung it over my shoulder after cleaning it off even though the blood wouldn't come off completely. My satchel was nearly empty but who knows when ill be able to replenish on supplies without being questioned. I'd have to be careful.
As I turned to make my way back to the village, the dragon shifted as its voice brushed faintly against my thoughts.
Name me.
I froze, glancing back. "What?"
Its golden eye narrowed. I cannot be nameless. You see me. You know me. Name me.
My throat went dry. Naming was powerful. Some hunters would sometimes name their prey, but that was only to claim them after death. This was nothing like that. This was… recognition.
I stood there for a moment in thought—the curve of her wings, torn and ragged, but still majestic, the way the mist curled around her as though the forest itself bent to her presence. Dark as midnight, yet her eyes glowed like molten sun. Shadows and light bound in one being.
The word slipped before I could even stop myself, quiet but certain. "Vaelora."
Her chest rose, and a deep rumble vibrated through the clearing. Something closer to approval and acceptance.
Vaelora.
The name echoed inside me, sealing itself with the warmth of the bond that pulsed in my chest.
My grip on my bow tightened as I forced my feet to step back into the trees. My stag was long gone, my hunt wasted. But venison wasn't what I found today.
I had found Vaelora.
And for the first time in years, I had no longer felt like the path of being a hunter belonged to me.
***
By the time I tore myself away from the clearing, the sun had begun its slow crawl across the sky. The mist cleared as the daylight burned through it, but the forest felt heavy as though it knew the secrets I held with in.
Every step that I took felt like a weight that couldn't be shaken off as I made my way towards the village. My hands were stained with dragon's blood no matter how many times I scrubbed at it with bark and moss. My satchel hung nearly empty to my side, my bow sting frayed, my quiver light. And to make matters worse, I had nothing to show for it. No stag. No boar. Not even a hare.
Returning empty-handed was shame enough for a hunter. But it was dangerous for me. Someone was bound to ask questions. And I was in no state to answer them.
I could feel the bond faintly tugging at my chest as I crossed the ridge and could see the rooftops of the village coming into view. I clenched my teeth as I tried my best to pretend that there was no creature in the woods. But it was there, undeniable—like an ember pressed into my ribs, alive and watchful.
Don't speak of me.
The words brushed my mind as i could feel the tone beneath the sound. Old, commanding, but not cruel.
"As if I'd be foolish enough," I mutter under my breath.
The villagers moved about their chores—mending nets, hauling firewood, hanging linens that caught the wind. Some of them catching a glimpse of me with casual familiarity, a nod here, a greeting there. None of them could see the dragon's blood beneath my nails, the treason I had just committed.
But one pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest.
"Kael!"
Lyra's voice carried across the square. She leaning on the edge of the well, with a basket of apples balanced beside her. Her copper brown hair caught in the sunlight, and her green eyes narrowed as she took in my empty hands.
My throat when dry as I forced a smile that felt too tight. "Don't be so surprised. Even i miss sometimes."
"Miss…" Her brows rose, "Or wander off where you shouldn't?"
I laughed as I dropped onto the bench near the well. My legs ached from being in the forest for so long, but it was more of the weight from Vaelora's presence that started dragging me down. I pulled one of the apples out from the basket and examined it for a moment. Letting the red skin give me something to focus on.
I could tell that I wasn't fooled. She never was.
"You have come back empty handed twice now, Kael. That's two days in a row and that's not like you," she spoke quieter now. It was only meant for me to hear. "Something is off."
I bit into the apple the juice from it, running down the sides of my chin, sweet and sharp. "The game has been thin this season," I said in between bites. "Even you must have noticed. Maybe the deer know better than to linger near a hunter like me."
"Or maybe you've been tracking something else." Her gaze sharpened, her lips pressing thin.
I forced a shrug as my pulse stumbled, then leaned back against the bench. "What else is there? You think I'm out there chasing faeries through the woods?"
She didn't waver. "You're hiding something."
Th bond stirred again as Vaelora's presence pulsed faintly, as though she could sense the tension even from miles away. Careful, she whispered in my mind. The girl sees too much.
I choked on the apple, causing Lyra to frown, reaching as if to steady me, but I waved her off quickly.
"I'm fine," I rasped, my throat dry. "Just tired is all."
Her hand hovered, then withdrew. She studied me a litte longer before her suspicion tempered by something softer. Concern. "You've looked… different, Kael. Ever since yesterday. Your eyes are restless, like you're listening to something I can't hear."
Her words sank deeper than I liked. If she could see that much, then there's no telling what the elder hunters would see. What would the Queen's soldiers see if I was to even slip once?
"Maybe I'm just listening to the wind and the trees, Lyra," I forced a grin that came out hollow but practiced. "You know me always chasing shadows."
She didn't smile.
It was silent between us for a few moments until the chatter of villagers and the creak of cart wheels broke it. She finally rose, brushing off her skirt. "If you're in trouble, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
"I'd tell you," I lied.
Her eyes continued to search me for a breath too long, then she gave me a nod and turned away.
I continued to sit there until I chewed on the last bite of apple until the taste of ash filled my mouth. My bow felt heavier on my back, my satchel nearly useless. And from the silence that was left by Lyra's departure came Vaelora's voice, making its way softly into my thoughts.
You cannot tell her about me. Not yet. Not anyone. Our lives depend on it.
I pressed my palms into my eyes, drawing a slow, ragged breath. "Gods help me," I whispered. "What have I done?"
The bond tugged at my chest once again, steady and unyielding.
Not what had I done.
What had I begun?