Chapter Twenty-Four: Lilith

  Ash felt something press against his face. An impatient thought wriggled through his mind, urgent and foreign, like someone knocking on a door that he hadn't known existed until now. His consciousness came back reluctantly, as if swimming upward through mud. Ash groaned, every muscle in his body feeling like heavy sacks of grain left too long in the rain. He blinked his eyes open with effort and found himself staring directly into a pair of dark, gleaming green eyes that seemed to glow with their own inner light.

  "Light preserve me," Ash cursed, trying to scramble away. His muscles screamed in protest against the sudden movement, sending jolts of pain through his limbs and torso. His back thudded against something solid, stopping his retreat.

  "She means you no harm, Master Lorcan." Amalia's voice came from somewhere to his left, carrying a hint of amusement that was so rare it took him a moment to recognize it. "You are in no danger here."

  Ash forced his breathing to slow as he took in the creature before him. It was about the size of a baby sheep but with a sleek, sinuous form that no lamb could ever possess. Unlike the wooly farm animals he had tended for years, this creature had wings folded against its sides, the thin membranes glistening in the cavern's dim light. The translucent skin reminded him of a dark lavender sunset reflecting off the surface of a lake, shimmering with hidden depths.

  Its scales—for Amalia had called the creature a she—ranged from the deep purples of a shadow during winter to a frozen lavender that caught what little light existed in the cavern and reflected it back in mesmerizing patterns. The scales themselves seemed to shift with each breath the creature took, creating a hypnotic effect that made Ash blink several times to ensure his vision wasn't playing tricks on him.

  The creature's eyes blinked, slow and deliberate. Within their emerald depths, Ash could see playful mischief dancing like fireflies on a summer evening. Tiny horns, no larger than his smallest finger, poked up slightly from her head, curving backward with the promise of future grandeur. Her tail, adorned with minuscule spikes near the end that resembled frozen dewdrops, swished over the cavern floor, creating a light scraping sound that echoed throughout the chamber.

  A thought nagged at him, more of a feeling than coherent words, radiating expectation and impatience. Ash frowned, his brow furrowing as he realized with startling clarity that the thought didn't belong to him. It felt alien yet somehow natural, like finding a door in your home that had always been there but you'd never noticed. The dragon—for she could be nothing else—cocked her head at him, the motion eerily similar to how a curious bird might study a particularly interesting insect.

  She was waiting for something, her stance alert despite her seemingly relaxed posture.

  Ash pointed a trembling finger at her, his voice rising with a mixture of alarm and wonder. "She's in my mind!"

  "It is a part of the bond," Amalia explained, her voice calm as still water. She stood nearby, her staff planted firmly on the stone floor, violet eyes observing the pair with careful attention. "You are connected now, you and her. Her presence fills the void between your mind and your elan, bridging what was once uncrossable. You will be able to use techniques now, amongst other abilities that will manifest in time."

  Ash's hand lowered slowly as his initial shock gave way to curiosity. He raised an eyebrow, studying the dragon with new interest. "What other abilities?" The possibilities stirred within him like leaves caught in a whirlwind.

  "None I can talk to you about, just now." Amalia's expression remained neutral, revealing nothing of her thoughts.

  Ash rolled his eyes, a familiar frustration bubbling up inside him. Of course she couldn't tell him. Amalia and her secrets were as inseparable as water and wetness. He was beginning to think the woman enjoyed being cryptic.

  "This brings up another problem," he said, pushing himself into a more comfortable sitting position, wincing as his sore muscles complained.

  "What would that be?" Amalia asked, though her tone suggested she already knew exactly what he was going to say. Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her staff.

  He said it anyway, gesturing toward the dragon with an open palm. "If I'm supposed to hide everything that happened here, I'm going to have a real hard time doing that with a dragon following me around. People tend to notice dragons, even small ones." The last part came out drier than he intended.

  The dragon in question was sniffing at his hand now, her thoughts questing through his mind like a curious kitten exploring a new corner of a house. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, a gentle brushing against his consciousness that left traces of warmth in its wake.

  "Indeed, you would," Amalia acknowledged with a slight inclination of her head. "That is why you must ask her to change her form."

  Ash furrowed his brows, confusion evident on his face as he laid a hand on the dragon's head. Her scales were smoother than he expected, warm to the touch and hard like polished river stones. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sound that reminded him of a contented cat as she nuzzled his hand, pressing against his palm.

  Then promptly bit him.

  "Ouch!" Ash jerked his hand back, examining the small puncture marks left by needle-sharp teeth. Thankfully, she hadn't bitten him very hard, and only a few droplets of blood welled up from the wounds. The dragon's tail swished from side to side, and her green eyes gained a smug light, her thoughts dismissive of him as if to say his reaction was entirely overblown.

  "What did she do that for?" Ash demanded, sucking at the small wound. "And what do you mean, change her form? Dragons can't just... change form, can they?" The storybooks he'd read as a child had never mentioned such abilities.

  Amalia was looking at the dragon with a fond expression that softened the sharp angles of her face, making her appear almost maternal. "You'll find that dragons want many things on their own terms, or not at all. Proud beings, dragons. Very proud indeed. From the smallest hatchling to the greatest wyrm, pride runs in their blood like fire. Just ask her to change her form. Go on." Amalia gestured at him with an encouraging flick of her wrist.

  Sighing, Ash tried to reach out with his mind toward the dragon, focusing on the foreign presence he could now feel nestled against his thoughts.

  *Hey, if you can hear me, would you please change your form?* The mental request felt awkward, like speaking a language he barely knew.

  She cocked her head, blinking those brilliant green eyes. Then she snorted, a small puff of smoke escaping her nostrils, and her physical form swirled suddenly as if turned to purple light. The transformation was fluid, scales and wings dissolving into motes of lavender radiance that twisted and reshaped themselves with beautiful precision.

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  A moment later, a little girl stood before him in a dark violet dress that matched the color of the dragon's scales. She looked to be about five years old, with the same striking green eyes and an adorable round face framed by short hair the color of twilight shadows. Her features were delicate but held a wild quality that no human child would possess.

  She didn't say anything, but began walking around the cavern, hands outstretched as if she were about to walk a tightrope, small black shoes clacking against the stone floor. Her movements were too graceful for a human child, yet carried the same innocent curiosity.

  "Oh," Ash breathed, understanding dawning. "Change her form."

  Ash stared, transfixed by the transformation. She was a little girl. But she was also a dragon. The contradiction made his head spin, and he found himself searching her features for signs of her true nature, finding them in the unnatural grace of her movements and the wildness lurking in her eyes.

  Slowly, he turned to regard Amalia, a new question forming on his lips. "Will I be able to turn into a dragon too?" The possibility sent a thrill through him, images of soaring through clouds on powerful wings filling his mind.

  "No, you will not," Amalia replied firmly, destroying that particular fantasy with practiced ease. "It doesn't work that way. The bond grants certain shared abilities, but transformation is uniquely draconic. At Wyrmhaven she will be seen as my little sister. No questions will be asked this way, as the academy is accustomed to family members visiting. We will be able to easily excuse her presence near you as you repaying your debt to me by watching her when I am occupied with teaching duties."

  Ash chuckled, the absurdity of the situation striking him. "What debt are you talking about? I don't recall owing you anything." Though if he was honest with himself, he probably owed her far more than he realized.

  Amalia arched a single brow, the movement subtle but somehow conveying volumes of disapproval. "It doesn't matter, does it? The tale is fiction, created to serve our purposes. But perhaps you have forgotten all of the training I have provided over the last couple of weeks to not only yourself, but your friends as well. Let us not also forget that I saved your life that night when the monsters came. One might consider that worthy of some small debt."

  She had saved him, that much was true, even if Ash felt she was hiding something significant about that night. The memory of his uncle falling, of the farm burning, still haunted his dreams. Amalia had appeared like a ghost from the shadows, her staff blazing with light that had held back the darkness.

  "It's as good a story as any," he conceded, running a hand through his ashen hair. "I'm not thrilled with lying, though. Especially to my friends." The thought of deceiving Rosalia, Nick, and Will left a sour taste in his mouth.

  "You promised, Master Lorcan." A warning note entered her tone, violet eyes hardening like gemstones. The temperature in the cavern seemed to drop a few degrees.

  He waved her off, not wanting to pursue that particular argument. "I did. I'll keep my promise." And he would, though it didn't mean he had to like it.

  The little girl-dragon stomped over to him suddenly, her black shoes clacking against the stone, sending echoes all throughout the cavern. The sound reminded him of horses' hooves on cobblestone streets. She stood in front of him, features arranged in a stern expression that looked comical on her childish face, and pointed emphatically at her mouth.

  "Oh, are you hungry?" Ash asked, understanding the gesture immediately.

  A firm nod answered him, her eyes never leaving his face.

  Ash looked to Amalia, raising his hands helplessly. "She'll need food. Do dragons eat regular food, or...?" He trailed off, suddenly wondering if he'd need to find small animals for her to hunt.

  "I'll get the fire going, and some food started," Amalia said, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "We will stay here tonight. It will give you time to become better acquainted with your bond before we return to civilization."

  As Amalia moved away to prepare their meal, Ash found himself studying the little girl who was also a dragon. She returned his gaze with equal intensity, neither of them looking away. In that moment, despite her childlike appearance, he could sense the ancient wildness within her, the power that slumbered beneath her skin. This was no ordinary bond he had entered into, and he knew with sudden clarity that his life would never be the same again.

  ---

  "How does she form the clothes? These feel real." Ash rubbed the fabric of the little dragon-girl's sleeve between his fingers, marveling at its texture. The material felt exactly like normal cloth, with no hint of the magic that must have created it.

  The girl was eating her food with single-minded determination, a stew Amalia had whipped up from a pan and ingredients that she had seemingly summoned from thin air. The rich aroma of herbs and meat filled the cavern, making Ash's stomach growl in response. He didn't think his teacher, if she could be called that, would answer his question, but to his surprise, she did.

  "She does it with elar," Amalia replied, her voice carrying easily across the crackling fire that separated them.

  "That doesn't explain how," Ash pressed, leaning forward. "I mean, elar is energy drawn from our elan. How does energy become solid cloth and shoes?" He held up his hand. "When I try to draw my elar, all I feel is cold, but I can't actually do anything with it yet. But this..." He gestured at the girl's dress. "This is different."

  Amalia tapped her nails on her staff, her eyes reflecting the firelight like twin pools of violet flame. The rhythmic sound echoed softly in the cavern, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the occasional scrape of spoon against bowl.

  "It is not an easy thing to explain," she said finally, her gaze shifting to the girl. "Dragons do not have the same relationship with elan and elar that you and I do. For one, her growth is shared with yours. Or in other words, as you grow in power, so does she. Yet, she does not use that power in the same way. Her use of elar is more instinctual, you might say."

  Amalia's expression softened slightly, a rare occurrence that Ash noted with interest. "Dragons were said to do great, unexplainable things with their elar. Things that defy our understanding even now. In fact, it is how Wyrmhaven came to be."

  Ash leaned back, intrigued by this tidbit of information. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his face as he considered her words. "That sounds like a story. Will you tell it to me?" He rarely got straight answers from Amalia, but stories seemed to flow more freely from her lips.

  Amalia considered his request, her head tilting slightly to one side. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sounds of the dragon-girl finishing her meal, scraping the bowl clean with her spoon.

  "Very well," she agreed at last. "I will tell you the tale, but we should see to something before I begin." Her voice held a note of finality that brooked no argument.

  Ash waited expectantly, wondering what could be more important than the story he had requested. Amalia pointed at the girl, who looked up at the gesture, her green eyes catching the firelight.

  The girl's form shifted once more, purple light swirling around her like mist on a winter morning. Where the child had stood moments before, the young dragon now reappeared, her scales gleaming in the firelight. She blinked once, then slunk over to Ash with sinuous grace. Without hesitation, she pushed herself onto his lap, curling up like an oversized cat, her tail wrapping around her body.

  He smiled, surprised but pleased by the display of trust, and laid a hand on the curve of her neck. The scales were warm beneath his palm, smooth and hard yet somehow yielding to his touch. A sense of contentment washed over him, though whether it came from the dragon or himself, he couldn't tell.

  "You must give her a name," Amalia said, her voice soft but insistent. "A dragon without a name is like a sword without a hilt—dangerous to all, including its wielder."

  Ash let out a breath, allowing his hands to trail over the soft scales, admiring their color as they caught and reflected the firelight. Names had power; he knew this from the stories his aunt had told him. Naming something was the first step toward knowing it, toward claiming it as your own.

  "How about..." he paused, searching his memory for something fitting, something worthy of the creature that now shared his mind. "Lilith."

  "Why that name?" Amalia asked, leaning back, her expression unreadable in the flickering light.

  Ash shrugged, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of the dragon's scales. "I read about a dragon once in an adventure story Aunt Dara bought for me from a trader. The dragon's name was Lilith. She was a fearsome, beautiful dragon who guarded an ancient treasure hoard but helped a lost traveler find his way home." The memory of sitting by the fire while his aunt read to him brought a smile to his face. "I always liked that story."

  Newly named, Lilith stretched her body, the motion rippling through her from nose to tail, and an approving thought echoed within his mind. It wasn't words exactly, but a sense of rightness, of acceptance that needed no translation.

  His smile widened, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. "She likes it!"

  "Very well," Amalia nodded, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "She will be known as Lilith from now on. A fitting name for one such as her." She straightened slightly, settling into her role as storyteller. "So then, you have requested a story of Wyrmhaven's creation."

  Lilith settled back into his lap, her body a comforting weight against him. Her eyes grew heavy as she watched the dancing shadows emerging from the flames, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing synchronizing with his own.

  Firelight swirled upward, coalescing into images that seemed almost solid, pictures formed of flame and shadow that danced above the burning logs. Ash leaned forward, entranced by the display of magic that seemed as effortless to Amalia as breathing.

  "To tell it," Amalia's voice had become whisper soft, a sound that carried the weight of ages past, "you must hear the story of Sylvestrus Caledon. The son of the Moon and Sun."

  The firelight twisted as she spoke, forming the silhouette of a young boy standing beneath a star-filled sky, his face upturned to the heavens. Ash settled back, Lilith warm against him, and prepared to lose himself in the tale. Whatever questions remained about his new bond, about the path that lay before him, they could wait until morning. For now, there was only the story, the fire, and the dragon whose destiny had become inexplicably intertwined with his own.