The days after the battle blurred together — a rhythm of quiet mornings, soft light, and slow healing. The forest around Eldrath began to breathe again. Charred branches sprouted green, the rivers cleared, and the sound of life returned, fragile yet determined.
Eric found himself cherishing the silence. It was the kind of peace that came only after loss — heavy, bittersweet, and painfully beautiful.
Each dawn, he woke to the sound of Seraphina's breathing. She slept in the chamber beside his, her wings wrapped gently around her like a silken shroud. Even in rest, she looked powerful — but there was a vulnerability in her sleep that she never showed while awake.
Sometimes, Eric watched her from the doorway, guilt and tenderness warring within him. He'd seen her fight gods and survive fire — yet what frightened him most was the fragility of the woman beneath the dragon.
When she finally stirred, her silver eyes softened at the sight of him.
"You're watching again," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"I wasn't—" he started, then stopped, laughing at himself. "All right. Maybe I was."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "You humans and your need to protect what you love. It's… strange."
"Strange?" he echoed, stepping closer.
She nodded, her hair glinting like strands of moonlight. "Among dragons, affection is rare. We don't guard the things we love. We let them burn brighter until they consume the world."
Eric reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Maybe that's what I'm doing too. Just slower."
Her breath caught for a moment — a small, unguarded pause.
Then she looked away, cheeks tinged faintly pink. "You're impossible."
He grinned. "You say that a lot."
"Because it's true," she replied, but her voice was softer this time — almost fond.
They spent that morning walking through the forest. The air smelled of dew and pine, and sunlight streamed through the leaves in golden ribbons. Seraphina moved carefully, her steps still unsure, her balance off without the full strength of her wings. Eric stayed close, ready to steady her whenever she stumbled.
At first, she resisted his help. But after tripping over a root and nearly falling, she finally let him hold her arm.
"Happy now?" she muttered.
"Very," he said, smiling.
They reached a small clearing where a pond mirrored the sky. Seraphina sat by the water, trailing her fingers across the surface, creating ripples that danced with reflected light.
"Do you ever wonder," she asked quietly, "what we'll be when all this ends?"
Eric sat beside her. "I've tried not to think too far ahead."
"Because you're afraid?"
He looked at her. "Because I don't want to imagine a future without you in it."
Seraphina's hand stilled. The water ripples faded.
She turned to him, her eyes searching his face — as if she was seeing him not as the human who had followed her through war, but as the man who had quietly captured her heart.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she whispered. "I might start believing you."
"Then believe me," he said. "Every word."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world felt suspended — the air still, the forest hushed, as if even nature dared not interrupt. Then Seraphina leaned closer, her forehead resting lightly against his.
Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Eric… I've lived for centuries. I've seen empires rise and fall. But you—" She drew a shaky breath. "You make me wish for things I thought I'd forgotten."
He closed his eyes, savoring the closeness. "Then remember them with me."
She smiled faintly — a sad, beautiful smile that carried the weight of ages. "You really are impossible."
But she didn't pull away.
For the first time since the war, laughter returned to Eldrath.
It came in small bursts — quiet jokes, shared meals, moments stolen from the world. Eric and Seraphina repaired what they could: the camp, the fields, each other.
She taught him dragon hymns — old songs from her childhood, whispered in a language older than the stars. In return, he taught her human stories — foolish, heartfelt tales of courage and love that ended with laughter instead of fire.
The days turned warm.
And for a while, it felt like peace might stay.
One night, as they sat beneath the stars, Seraphina rested her head on his shoulder.
"Do you ever wish you could go back?" she asked.
"To before all this?"
She nodded.
He thought for a moment. "No. Even if I could… I wouldn't trade this — you — for the whole world."
Seraphina's fingers curled against his arm. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. "Then neither would I."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full — of everything unspoken, everything they'd lost, and everything they were slowly rebuilding together.
But as the fire burned low, Eric caught a flicker of gold at the edge of his vision — a brief shimmer in the darkness. The mark on his arm pulsed once, faint but insistent.
He glanced down, frowning.
When he looked up again, Seraphina was watching him — eyes full of quiet understanding.
She didn't ask.
And he didn't tell.
Some truths could wait until morning.