The sun was dipping lower by the time they left the tangled woods behind. Astrid’s boots ached with every step, but she said nothing.

  Kurai hadn’t spoken since they’d crossed the last stream.

  The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — but it wasn’t easy either.

  It was something fragile. Something unspoken.

  She was too afraid to name it, in case it shattered.

  Astrid walked just behind him, matching his pace.

  She watched the way his shoulders moved — no longer rigid, but not quite relaxed. Like he didn’t know how to carry peace.

  She thought of the previous night. The way he’d looked at her — unsure, exposed — had made something inside her ache.

  "You didn’t lose it. You protected me."

  And just for a heartbeat, he’d looked like he believed her.

  Maybe not fully.

  But enough.

  She stayed close, holding onto that flicker like it might grow if she just stayed by his side.

  But the further they walked, the quieter he became.

  Not just in voice — in presence.

  Just when I think I’m closing this gap, it opens back up again.

  They crested a low rise, and the trees fell away.

  A village sat in the clearing ahead — untouched by wind, light, or sound.

  It wasn’t on any map.

  There were no signs. No names.

  Just homes slouched under the weight of time, half-eaten by vines and moss.

  Ivy cracked through rooftops. Doors hung open on broken hinges.

  A faded wind chime hung motionless in a breeze that didn’t exist.

  Astrid slowed, pulling the worn map from her pocket, fingers tracing the space where the woods should be.

  Nothing. No village. Just blank trees.

  What is this place?

  "This isn’t right," she muttered.

  She looked up —

  Kurai was already walking away.

  Straight into the heart of the village.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Kurai?" she called.

  "Do you know this place?"

  He didn’t look back.

  Didn’t hesitate.

  Astrid’s breath caught.

  Kurai, wait—

  He moved like he had to.

  Like something was calling him.

  She chased after him, weaving between the frozen homes and the eerie stillness that clung to the air.

  There were no sounds.

  No signs of life.

  Just a hollow kind of stillness that made her skin crawl.

  It felt preserved, not abandoned.

  And Kurai —

  He was disappearing into it.

  Oh god. Is he possessed?

  I know he’s mysterious, but this is taking the cake.

  She caught sight of him again — a glimpse of dark coat at the top of a staircase, vanishing into a low, broken structure carved into the hillside.

  A temple.

  Of course it's a creepy temple. Because why not.

  She hurried after him.

  The doorway was etched with curling patterns that might've once been language.

  Above it, the faded shape of wings.

  Spirals. Teeth. Fire.

  Dragons.

  Her heart hammered harder.

  This must be what Silas meant.

  The real histories. The ones they tried to erase.

  She stepped inside.

  The air changed instantly.

  Cold and dry.

  Heavy with memory.

  Dust hung like fog. The floor was cracked stone. The walls coated in faded murals — dragons in flight, dragons encircling flames, dragons burning cities.

  And at the center —

  One dragon painted in immaculate detail.

  Black and gold. Wings outstretched.

  A faceless figure knelt beneath it, arms raised toward the sky.

  Kurai stood before it, completely still.

  He didn’t blink.

  He didn’t breathe.

  She approached carefully.

  "Kurai…?"

  No response.

  Then — softly, in a voice that didn’t sound like his:

  "Lathaniel... ai sovaer."

  Astrid froze.

  The words didn’t make sense.

  Didn’t sound like any language she knew.

  "Kurai?" she tried again, louder now.

  "You’re scaring me."

  He brushed his fingers across the dragon’s wings on the mural — a touch almost reverent.

  Another whisper:

  "It called me son."

  His gaze didn’t just linger on the dragon — it locked on it. Like it had spoken to him alone.

  Astrid’s blood ran cold.

  For a heartbeat —

  she didn’t know what to say.

  Didn’t know what to do.

  A helplessness clawed at her chest.

  I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know what’s happening.

  Her hand hovered at her side, useless.

  Then she forced herself to move — fast and clumsy.

  I make jokes when I’m scared.

  He has to know that by now. Right?

  "Okay, this is getting seriously creepy," she said, voice too loud in the empty space. "Kurai, blink if you can hear me!"

  Nothing.

  The humour cracked at the edges.

  Panic surged sharper.

  She reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  The second she touched him —

  he jerked violently, sucking in a breath like a drowning man.

  His eyes shot to hers — wide and confused.

  "...Astrid?"

  She jumped slightly but didn’t let go.

  "Yeah. It’s me."

  He looked around — as if seeing the temple for the first time.

  His voice was hoarse. "Where... where are we?"

  She swallowed hard.

  "I don’t know. Some kind of dragon temple. You scared the shit out of me."

  Kurai went very still.

  "...Dragons?" he repeated, almost dazed.

  "Yeah, seems like it," she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

  "You just... left me. I kept calling, but you wouldn’t even look at me."

  He flexed his hand in hers — a tremble she could feel in her bones.

  "I didn’t hear you," he said, voice rough. "I only heard—"

  He stopped.

  Astrid didn’t press.

  Not yet.

  Whatever this was —

  it wasn’t something he understood either.

  They stood there in the heavy quiet, surrounded by fire and wings and silence.

  Kurai’s breathing was uneven.

  Astrid didn’t let go until she was sure he was really with her again.

  She studied his face —

  the lines of confusion and something else she couldn’t name.

  She turned back slowly, gaze drawn once more to the mural.

  The dragon’s painted wings seemed heavier now —

  like they might move if she looked away.

  The light filtering through the broken ceiling caught the dragon’s eye — a glint of gold that hadn’t been there before.

  A faint line of ash had formed beneath the flame the dragon cradled.

  It hadn’t been there when they entered.

  Astrid knelt beside it, fingers hovering.

  "This wasn’t here," she said, mostly to herself.

  Kurai didn’t answer.

  She rose slowly, brushing the ash from her palms.

  "What is going on?" she whispered. "Why has this reacted to you?"

  Still, Kurai said nothing.

  Astrid turned back to him; voice gentler now.

  "Kurai... what did it say to you exactly?"

  He met her eyes — distant, uncertain.

  "I don’t know," he said rawly.

  Astrid studied him.

  He really has no idea what just happened.

  He looked like himself.

  But there was something different now.

  A quiet weight behind his eyes.

  A flicker of something old.

  Something awake.

  She glanced back at the dragon.

  At the kneeling figure.

  The outstretched hands.

  Whatever this was —

  it felt like it wanted something from him.

  And that terrified her.

  Because if it had called him once...

  It might call him again.

  And next time —

  She might not be able to pull him back.

  His hand was still warm. Still solid. But for a moment, she hadn’t been sure it would stay that way.