The night after their escape carried a silence heavier than the screams that had haunted them in the HELION complex. The damp tunnels and sterile walls were gone, replaced by air sharp with pine and the scent of rain-soaked earth. Above, a sky they hadn't seen in years stretched infinitely—an ocean of stars that felt almost unreal.
Midarion had expected freedom to taste sweet. Instead, it was bitter, like a mouth full of ashes. Every step away from the lab reminded him that nothing tethered them to the world anymore. No family. No past. Only survival.
Elhyra moved with calm authority, guiding them through folds of shadow. Her long blond hair was hidden beneath a simple woolen hood, her flowing robes replaced with a traveler's garb. That morning, she had returned from a nearby village with a bundle of coarse clothing and worn but serviceable cloaks.
"From now on," she said, handing Midarion and Reikika their garments, "you are not prodigies, fugitives, or weapons. You are my brothers—merchants' sons. Traders moving east. If anyone asks, you know nothing of project HELION, nothing of soldiers, nothing of dragons."
Her gaze shifted to the hatchling tucked within a leather satchel. The small beast shifted restlessly, letting out a soft, anxious growl.
"And him?" Reikika asked quietly.
Elhyra's lips tightened. "If asked, he is your stock. A rare creature meant for sale. You do not flaunt him. He is cargo. Do you understand?"
Midarion nodded, though his hand lingered protectively on the satchel's strap. The dragon's warmth pulsed against his side like a heartbeat, grounding him in a world that had long since stopped feeling real.
The week-long journey began at dawn. The foothills fell behind them as the road unwound toward the lowlands, dust rising beneath their travel-stained cloaks. Midarion walked beside Elhyra, every muscle coiled, eyes scanning every cart, every passerby, every potential threat.
The world beyond project HELION was overwhelming. Fields of golden barley rippled beneath the wind. Shepherds guided their flocks along ridges. The scent of bread baking in distant ovens made Midarion's stomach knot with hunger and unease.
In the villages they passed, Reikika pressed close, hiding her face beneath her hood. Midarion felt her fear like a pulse, silent but constant. The laughter of ordinary children in courtyards, the songs of carefree farmers—it all felt foreign, as though another world existed just beyond their reach.
At night, taverns offered temporary refuge. Wooden beams creaked overhead, smoke stung their eyes, and mugs of cheap ale clattered across scarred tables. They never lingered. Elhyra's command was absolute: "We move at dawn, always. A shadow that lingers is a shadow noticed."
Sometimes they ate in silence, the baby dragon muffled and hidden beneath their belongings. Other nights, snippets of conversations from fellow travelers drifted toward them—rumors of brigands along the border, whispers of warlords rising in the east, warnings of the land that awaited them.
"The Lawless Lands also called Arechi," a drunkard muttered one evening, voice thick with dread. "It is no place for traders. No place for honest men. Once you cross its borders, you're prey—nothin' more."
Reikika stiffened at the words. Elhyra merely sipped her drink, expression unreadable.
The disguises were fragile. Midarion chafed at the false smiles, the careful bows, the forced politeness. One evening, walking beneath the moon's pale light, Reikika finally voiced what had gnawed at them both.
"Why the lawless lands? If it's as dangerous as they say… why go there?"
Elhyra slowed, her hood casting deep shadows across sharp features. "Because danger is our shield. The reach of your pursuers ends at Arechi's border. No kingdom, no law, no empire dares claim it. For one hunted by Soldiers, there is no safer refuge."
"No safer refuge…" Midarion repeated bitterly. "In a place where even honest men are prey?"
Her gaze held his, unwavering. "Better hunted among wolves than chained in a cage."
The truth stung, but he could not deny it. Their survival depended on shadows, lies, and silence.
On day seven, as the first rays of sunlight struck the ground, Midarion crouched, careful not to disturb the small dragon. His hand hovered over its snout, hesitating.
"You need a name," he murmured, voice steady despite the exhaustion threading through him.
The dragon tilted its head, as if considering him in return. Its amber eyes reflected a mixture of mischief and patience. Midarion found himself staring back, weighing possibilities.
It's clever… stubborn… bold… wild. Not just a creature to be carried or hidden…
He thought of names that sounded strong, names that carried weight, but none felt right. Each suggestion died on his tongue, rejected silently. He tried to match it to the dragon's gaze, searching for resonance in its quiet, intelligent scrutiny.
Then it came, like a spark: a name that seemed to have waited for this moment.
"Keelzarion," he whispered, tasting the word. The dragon chirped softly, curling closer, its tiny claws resting on his arm. "Keel… for short."
A flicker of warmth spread through Midarion as he felt the creature settle against him, as if acknowledging the bond between them. Finally, there was a sense of permanence, of connection. This small being—rescued, hidden, and now named—was no longer cargo. It was a companion.
By the tenth day, the land had grown harsh. Forests thinned to scrubland, and abandoned watchtowers rose like broken teeth on the horizon. Travelers carried weapons in plain sight, eyes narrowing at the newcomers.
A group of riders blocked their path once. Their leader, scarred and jagged, demanded to see what they carried.
"We are traders," Elhyra said evenly, bowing her head. "Cloth, herbs, some wares from the west. Nothing worth your trouble."
The man's gaze lingered too long on Midarion and Reikika. His grin revealed missing teeth. "Pretty wares… maybe worth more than cloth."
Midarion's hand tightened on the strap that concealed Keelzarion. Before he could act, Elhyra stepped forward, lowering her hood just enough to meet the man's eyes.
"Do you intend to test the sanctity of travelers under the Star's light?" Her voice cut like glass.
Hesitation flickered across his expression, then unease. The riders spat, barked orders to each other, and vanished down the road without another word.
Reikika exhaled, trembling. Midarion stared at Elhyra, realizing that cold authority—no miracles, no stars—had saved them this time.
By the twelfth dawn, exhaustion pressed down on them. Their cloaks were travel-stained, their purses lighter, their bodies heavy. Yet something in the air had shifted. Villages disappeared. Roads faded, becoming mere tracks. The wind carried a scent of iron, smoke, and decay.
Atop a rocky rise, they finally saw it: Arechi.
The Lawless Lands stretched before them like an open wound. Blackened plains extended to the horizon, dotted with skeletal ruins and crooked fortresses. Fires burned in the distance, smoke coiling into the ashen sky. No banners. No law. Only chaos—alive, waiting, hungry.
Reikika's voice was barely a whisper. "We're… really going in there."
Elhyra's cloak snapped in the wind as she surveyed the desolation. "This is where your chains end. But remember, freedom is not safety. Arechi devours the careless."
Midarion tightened his hand on the satchel. Keelzarion shifted, restless, as though sensing the storm ahead.
For the first time since their escape, a flame ignited within him. Not fear. Not grief. Something else—a fire to meet the world that had taken everything from him.
They had left behind ashes. What lay ahead was fire.
And he was ready to walk through it.