The sun lingered longer these days. The warmth of early summer stretched lazily across Eldrath, melting away the last hints of frost that clung stubbornly to the shadows. Flowers bloomed between the stones of the once-scorched ruins, and a tender breeze whispered through the silver leaves. The air smelled of life returning — cautious, but certain.
Eric stood by the riverbank, sleeves rolled up, water lapping against his boots. The rhythm of the stream soothed him. Each ripple seemed to carry away a fragment of the war, washing the blood and sorrow from his thoughts.
Behind him, a soft rustle of wings broke the stillness.
"You're up early," Seraphina's voice floated to him, rich and melodic, with the faintest trace of amusement.
He turned, smiling. "Habit, I guess. Old farm boy instincts die hard."
She approached gracefully, her bare feet silent against the grass. Her scales — faint and subtle now, like delicate silver lines tracing her arms — caught the light. She had shed most of her battle armor and instead wore a flowing white gown that moved with the wind, simple yet radiant.
"You always say that," she teased, crouching beside him. "Yet you never teach me any of these 'instincts'."
"Would you really want to learn how to milk a goat or mend fences?" he chuckled.
"Perhaps not," she admitted, lips curving into a soft smile. "But I could watch you do it. It's… strangely calming."
He dipped his hands into the river again, letting the cool water run through his fingers. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd call anything about human life calming."
Seraphina tilted her head, watching the light play across the water. "After centuries of chaos and war, even ordinary things feel precious."
Her gaze softened. "You make them precious."
Eric's heart stilled for a moment — the words hanging in the air like fragile glass. Then he smiled gently. "You've been spending too much time with humans. You're getting poetic."
She laughed quietly, a sound that rippled through him like sunlight on warm stone. "And you've been spending too much time with dragons. You're getting bold."
---
They spent the morning by the river, talking about everything and nothing.
Seraphina told him stories of the skies — of soaring above storms, feeling thunder dance through her wings, and the way lightning tasted like power and freedom.
Eric listened, eyes wide, imagining it all. In turn, he told her about the village where he was born — the smell of earth after rain, his mother's laughter, and the simple joy of chasing fireflies as a boy.
She listened like it was a treasure she'd never known existed.
When she smiled, it wasn't the smile of a noble or a warrior — but of someone rediscovering the beauty of being alive.
At midday, they walked back toward the settlement.
Eldrath was changing — no longer just a camp of survivors but a living village. The refugees had begun rebuilding, erecting homes from the ashes. Children played in the streets again. For the first time, laughter felt natural instead of forced.
As they passed, people nodded respectfully to Seraphina.
To Eric, they smiled — not as to a hero, but as to one of their own.
He caught her glancing at him as they walked.
"What?" he asked.
"You seem… different," she said softly. "Calmer. Happier."
"I think," he said after a moment, "I just stopped running. For the first time in my life."
Her expression gentled. "Then perhaps this peace is your reward."
He looked at her — truly looked — and realized something.
It wasn't just peace that he'd found.
It was her.
---
That evening, they sat by a small campfire outside the walls. The stars spread wide above them, painting the sky with quiet brilliance. Seraphina lay beside him, resting on her side, one wing half-draped over them both like a soft blanket.
The fire crackled between them.
For a long while, neither spoke. The silence wasn't awkward — it was full of comfort, of understanding that needed no words.
Eric's fingers brushed against hers. She didn't pull away.
"I used to think dragons didn't need warmth," he said softly. "You always seemed untouchable — fire itself."
Her lips curved faintly. "Even fire longs for something to hold onto. Something that doesn't vanish with the wind."
He turned toward her, the glow of the fire reflecting in her silver eyes. "And did you find it?"
She held his gaze. "Maybe."
For a heartbeat, the world felt suspended — no war, no duty, no destiny. Just two souls caught in the fragile stillness of the night.
Then she shifted closer, her hand rising to rest against his chest. "Your heart," she whispered, "it's always so loud. I can hear it when you're near."
"Sorry," he said with a faint smile. "It tends to do that when you're around."
Her laughter was soft, almost shy. "You're terrible at subtlety."
"And you," he murmured, brushing her cheek, "are terrible at hiding how much you care."
Her eyes widened slightly — then softened.
Without another word, she leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn't a kiss of passion or urgency. It was slow, uncertain, like a promise being written in the language of silence. Her lips tasted faintly of smoke and starlight, and when she pulled back, the world seemed to fade around her.
"Seraphina," he breathed, "I—"
She pressed a finger gently to his lips. "Don't. Not yet. Let this moment be enough."
He nodded, and they stayed like that — together beneath the endless sky, the world forgotten.
---
Later, when the fire burned low, Seraphina whispered, "I never told you this, but when I first met you, I thought you were fragile. A human lost in a world too cruel for him."
Eric smiled faintly. "And now?"
"Now," she said, tracing a faint scar on his hand, "I think you might be the strongest creature I've ever known."
He laughed quietly. "You really need to meet more humans."
She shook her head. "No. Just you."
Her voice was soft — barely above the hum of the wind — but every word sank deep into his soul.
He reached out, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "You know," he said, "if peace ever becomes too quiet for you, I could always build us something small. A home. Somewhere between your skies and my soil."
Her eyes glimmered, half amused, half wistful. "You'd build a home for a dragon?"
"For you."
A slow smile touched her lips. "Then maybe… I'd stay."
And just like that, the world seemed whole again — at least for that single night.
---
When Seraphina finally drifted to sleep, her head resting on his shoulder, Eric stayed awake.
The moonlight wrapped them both in silver, and he watched the way her breathing matched his, steady and peaceful.
For the first time in a long time, he felt truly home.
But somewhere deep in the forest, a faint vibration trembled through the earth — so subtle it might have been the wind. The mark on his arm pulsed once, faintly glowing beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
He looked down, frowning, but then Seraphina stirred softly in her sleep, her hand tightening around his.
He smiled, brushing a kiss against her hair.
"Not tonight," he whispered. "Not yet."
And as the night deepened, the stars above them burned brighter — beautiful and distant, watching over the fragile warmth that still dared to bloom beneath their light.