The world after Drathmor burned was silent.
No songs of dragons echoed across the sky.
No light glimmered from the molten rivers that once ran bright with forgefire.
Only the cold breath of the northern wind carried the scent of ash — the ghost of a kingdom that once roared with pride.
Eric awoke to the crackle of a dying campfire. His body ached from the fall, every muscle screaming with exhaustion. The last thing he remembered was Seraphina's wings wrapping around him as they plummeted through the smoke, fleeing the destruction of her home.
Now, he lay beneath a crude shelter of stone and cloth, the world dim and gray.
Snow had begun to fall — black flakes from the soot that still hung heavy in the air.
He turned his head, wincing, and saw her.
Seraphina knelt beside the fire, her wings folded tight around her shoulders. The once-glorious scales along her arms were marred with burns; the edges of her feathers charred black. Her armor was gone, replaced by a tattered cloak. Yet even in ruin, she carried an air of impossible strength — like a goddess fallen but unbroken.
"Hey," Eric rasped. His throat felt raw, his voice half-burned by smoke. "Still alive?"
Seraphina looked up slowly. Her golden eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. "Barely."
He smiled weakly. "I'll take that as good news."
She didn't answer right away. She just stared at him — studying the burns across his chest, the faint golden mark that still pulsed beneath his skin. Then, without a word, she reached for a cloth and dipped it into a bowl of cold water.
"Lie still," she said softly, pressing the cloth against his wounds. "You were nearly consumed by your own flame. You shouldn't have survived."
Eric winced, but stayed still. "Guess I'm stubborn like that."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Stubbornness won't always save you."
He looked at her — really looked.
There was something hollow in her expression now, something broken behind the calm.
"Seraphina," he murmured, "how many made it out?"
She froze for a moment before answering, "Less than a hundred. Most are scattered. Ka'varn and the other elders… I don't know if they lived."
Eric's chest tightened. "Drathmor—"
"Gone," she interrupted, voice trembling. "Everything my mother built, everything I swore to protect... gone in a single night."
Her hand dropped from his chest. The cloth fell into the ashes.
For a long while, there was only silence between them — the kind of silence that carried grief too deep for words.
Outside, the wind howled through the mountains, scattering embers into the snow.
Finally, Eric pushed himself up despite the pain. "We're still here. That has to mean something."
She looked at him — eyes blazing with anger and sorrow. "Meaning? My people are ashes, Eric. The dragons who survived will hide in shame or bow to Drakonis. I have no army. No home. Nothing left."
He reached out, cupping her face with his hand. "You still have you. You're not beaten yet."
Her breath caught — fire flickering in her gaze. "You don't understand. When Drathmor fell, I felt every soul burn. Our bond — our magic — it connects us all. When they died, part of me died with them."
Eric didn't pull away. "Then let me carry what's left."
She blinked, startled. "You can't carry this."
"Watch me."
Something in his tone — quiet, steady, unyielding — broke through the storm within her. For the first time since the fall, her shoulders softened. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.
"I envy you sometimes," she whispered. "Humans can grieve and still move forward. Dragons… we remember too deeply."
"Then I'll remind you how to forget for a while."
Her lips curved faintly — a shadow of a smile in the darkness. "That might be the most human thing you've ever said."
He chuckled softly, the sound cracked but warm. "I'm full of surprises."
---
Hours passed. The fire died, and the storm outside grew stronger. They huddled close beneath the tattered cloak, the only warmth between them the faint pulse of dragonfire that lingered in Eric's blood.
He felt her trembling slightly — not from cold, but from exhaustion. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath uneven.
"Sleep," he murmured.
"I can't," she whispered back. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him — Drakonis — tearing through my people. I hear their screams."
Eric wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "Then don't dream alone."
For a while, neither spoke. Their breathing fell into rhythm — two hearts beating in sync beneath a sky that no longer knew light.
Then, softly, she spoke again. "Do you ever regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"Meeting me. Loving me. All of this."
Eric looked down at her — at the faint shimmer of gold beneath her tears, at the weight she carried and the strength she still had left.
He didn't hesitate.
"No," he said simply. "Not even for a second."
Her breath caught. "Even after everything you've lost?"
"I didn't lose everything," he said quietly. "Because you're still here."
The words hung between them like an oath.
And for the first time since the fire, she let herself break.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she buried her face against his chest. Her wings trembled, the last of her restraint shattering in his arms. Eric said nothing — he simply held her as the storm raged outside, letting her grieve the world that was gone.
When her sobs finally quieted, dawn was breaking — pale light bleeding through the ash.
Seraphina pulled back, wiping her face. "You should hate me," she whispered. "If you hadn't met me, you'd still have a home. A life."
He shook his head. "If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't have known what living meant."
She stared at him — and in that look, something shifted. The wall between them, built from guilt and loss, began to crumble.
Without thinking, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his — gentle at first, then desperate, as though trying to draw life from the ashes around them.
The world vanished in that moment — no war, no pain, no gods or kings. Just warmth, and breath, and the fragile reminder that they were still alive.
When they finally parted, Seraphina's voice was barely a whisper.
"Promise me, Eric. Whatever happens next… don't let the fire consume who you are."
He smiled faintly. "Only if you promise not to give up on who you can be."
Her eyes glowed softly — not with fury this time, but with hope. "Then we'll make a new fire. One the world can't extinguish."
He reached for her hand, and their fingers intertwined — mortal and dragon, scarred and burning, bound by something greater than either could name.
---
That night, as the stars struggled to pierce through the smoke, Seraphina stood on the cliff's edge, looking toward the south — where Drathmor had once stood. Eric joined her, silent beside her, his breath misting in the cold.
"What now?" he asked quietly.
"We rebuild," she said. "Not the same empire, not the same way. Something better. Something my mother would have believed in."
"And Drakonis?"
Her gaze hardened, but there was no hatred in it — only purpose. "We'll face him. But not with fire alone."
She turned to him, eyes shining faintly in the starlight. "We'll need allies. Humans. Dragons. Anyone who remembers what freedom feels like."
Eric nodded slowly. "Then we start here."
He reached into the snow and drew the symbol of Drathmor — a circle of flame — and beneath it, a smaller mark of gold. Two sigils intertwined.
"The Flame Reborn," he said softly.
Seraphina smiled, her wings spreading wide against the pale sky. "Then let it burn."
And as the wind swept through the mountains, carrying the ashes of the old world away, the first spark of a new dawn flickered to life — small, fragile, but alive.