Chapter nine: Ashes of Blood and Home

The White Desert stretched endless, a wasteland of stone and silence. Days had blurred together under the sunless haze. Cid’s cloak dragged dust in his wake, the wind whispering low across the dunes.

“Earth Dragons…” he muttered. “Gods of the sand. Why would anyone hunt one?”

He crouched at a trail of blood cutting across the stone. Fresh. Scales torn, flesh shredded. Further ahead, the butchered remains of Mersomufs lay piled, their bellies ripped open.

“This wasn’t a hunt,” Cid murmured, fingers brushing the broken hides. “This was survival.”

The trail led him to a cavern, a jagged wound in the cliffs. The air that seeped from its mouth stank of blood and smoke. He stepped inside.

And froze.

Curled against the far wall lay the dragon. Her bronze scales were dulled with dirt and blood, her belly crudely stitched shut with clawed desperation. Her wings—once vast, proud—were melted stumps of flesh and bone.

“No…” Cid’s breath caught. His hand fell to Clain, then loosened. “This wasn’t a monster’s work. This was human.”

The dragon stirred, lifting her head with a groan. Her eyes—fierce, unbroken despite her wounds—fixed on him.

“Leave,” she growled, her voice broken stone. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Cid said, lowering his blade. “But others will come. They’ll finish what they started.”

Something in her gaze faltered. Slowly, she lowered her head.

“…Your name, human.”

“Cidolfus Lynvern.”

“I am Thera,” she said.

He approached, pulling bandages from his pack, steady hands pressing to her wounds.

“Who did this to you?”

“A man. A doctor,” she hissed. “He wants to build weapons, not beasts. Mindless creatures—obedient, unthinking. He burned my wings so I couldn’t flee. I escaped, but…” Her voice trembled. “I cannot survive much longer.”

Cid’s hands froze. His chest tightened.

“…Thera. I think… I helped him.”

Her golden eyes widened.

“All the dragon parts he needed. Wings, scales, tails. I brought them. Sold them. I didn’t ask why. I just wanted to be strong.”

She studied him, long and heavy. Then she asked, quietly, “What for?”

Cid swallowed. “…To find my sister. To protect Fenrona. To protect everyone I love. To build something—something that shields people, all people, not just kings and nobles. A company of the strongest, a shield against monsters, even divine ones.”

For a moment, his brown eyes flared violet.

Thera’s breath caught. “…Those eyes. Human, do you know what they are?”

Cid frowned. “…What?”

“They are the eyes of Creation. Only those born with will enough to change the world awaken them. In all my years, I’ve only heard of one other. The one they call… the Shadow.”

Cid’s jaw tightened. He told her what he’d learned in Shadow-Lair, of the figure whispered about in old scrolls.

“I see,” Thera whispered. Her chest heaved. “Listen well, Cidolfus Lynvern. We dragons… we descend from the first creature, Duran, born at Creation’s dawn. You humans share that blood. That is why gods like us can walk in humanoid form. You… you are closer to Creation than you know.”

Her body trembled.

“I cannot run. I will not heal. My daughters are hidden here—three hatchlings. Too young now, but one day they will take human form. Please… kill me, Cidolfus. Take the bounty. Protect my children.”

“I can’t.” His voice cracked. “I won’t.”

“You must,” she begged. Her voice broke with something like grief. “Close your heart. They are yours now. Be their father. Forget me. Just… please.”

Cid’s fists shook. Then he nodded.

“Fine. But hear my word—I’ll avenge you. And every dragon he butchered.”

“Thank you,” Thera whispered.

“Goodbye,” he said softly.

Clain sang as it cut through air and flesh. A clean stroke. A merciful one.

Thera’s head fell, her golden eyes closing for the last time.

Three small shapes crawled from the shadows. Bronze-scaled hatchlings, each no larger than a wolf pup. Their golden eyes glimmered with fear as they pressed against their mother one last time—then hesitantly crept beneath Cid’s cloak.

They shivered against his chest, their tiny claws clinging to the fabric as though they understood what had just happened. One let out a soft whimper. Another hissed weakly, curling tighter into the warmth of him.

Cid’s throat tightened. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, then lowered—pulling the cloak tighter around them. “Easy… I’ve got you.”

The smallest hatchling nosed against his neck, seeking comfort.

Cid swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he whispered, “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re mine now. I’ll protect you. All of you. I swear it.”

He glanced back one final time at Thera’s body, at the broken wings that would never soar again.

“I’ll make him pay,” he said softly, his words a promise carved in stone.

The hatchlings stirred at the sound of his voice, their breathing slowing, trusting.

With Thera’s head sealed in the bounty sack and her children hidden close beneath his cloak, Cid stepped out into the desert night.

The wind howled through the cavern, carrying the scent of blood away.

He did not look back.

Back at the Village

The tavern door creaked open.

“I’m back,” Cid said, stepping into the lantern glow.

Fenrona looked up from the bar, her ears twitching, eyes wide. “Love… you did it?”

Bill emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands with a rag. “You really brought it back?”

Cid set the heavy bag down. When he opened it, the Earth Dragon’s head rolled gently across the wood, its bronze eyes shut as if it had only gone to sleep.

“Her name was Thera,” he said quietly. “And she asked me to protect her daughters.”

Bill froze. His gaze lingered on the dragon’s face. “She told you, then.”

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Cid’s jaw tightened. “She did. And she told me about the doctor.”

Bill exhaled through his nose, grim. “I didn’t know—not until after you left. But word reached me quick.”

“Where is he?” Cid asked, his voice low, dangerous.

“Old castle to the south,” Bill said. “Rotting, broken place. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Cid muttered.

“Get some rest, kid,” Bill said, his tone heavy but kind.

That Night

Fenrona entered their room softly, finding Cid sitting on the floor in darkness, his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands.

“Love…” she whispered.

“I did something horrible, Fen,” he said without looking up. “All those hunts. All those dragons I killed. I made this possible.”

She knelt in front of him, forcing his eyes to hers. “No. Look at me.”

He did—his eyes hollow, burning with guilt.

“You didn’t know,” she said firmly. “You were trying to survive. To protect me, Emily… all of us.”

“I still gave him the power he needed,” Cid rasped. “Their blood is on my hands.”

“Don’t forget, love,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “You saved Thera’s daughters. You gave her peace.”

His eyes shimmered. Fenrona leaned in and kissed him—deep, soft, full of warmth. She held him close as if keeping him from drowning.

“You’re a good man,” she breathed. “Don’t fall into despair. Not now.”

He nodded slowly, resting his forehead against hers.

Then came a sound—a faint chirp.

Three small dragonlings peeked shyly from the folds of his cloak.

Fenrona blinked, then gasped softly. “Love…”

“They’re Thera’s,” Cid said gently. “Her daughters. Come out,” he whispered, opening his arms. “This will be your new mother.”

The dragonlings crawled out, trembling, and pressed themselves against him, clinging with tiny claws.

Fenrona’s lips curved into a tender smile. “You see? You’re not what they want you to be. You’re not a monster. You’re theirs now. Ours.”

She kissed him again—longer this time, lingering with unspoken promise.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cid whispered, wrapping his arms around Fenrona and the children, holding all of them close.

And together, beneath the flickering candlelight, two broken souls began building something new—

a family.

Morning came soft and golden through the curtains, though Cid’s heart was still heavy.

He crouched beside the bed where the three dragonlings lay curled together under the blankets, their small chests rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Alright, little ones,” Cid said gently. “Can any of you speak? Or understand me?”

One of the dragonlings—sleek-scaled, silver-eyed—lifted her head and nodded. “Yes. Only me.”

Cid smiled faintly. “That’s a start.” He placed a hand over his chest. “My name is Cidolfus Lynvern. You can call me Cid. And from this day on… you are my daughters.”

Fenrona knelt beside him, her golden eyes warm. “I’m Fenrona. But you can call me Fen… or Mother, if you’d like.”

The dragonling blinked at her, hesitant. “Mother…?” She looked down, as though weighing the word, then lifted her head with a small nod. “Okay. Mother.”

Fenrona’s lips parted in surprise, her hand rising to still her racing heart. “You… called me Mother.”

Cid smiled. “You, the one who spoke—your name will be Nyx. And I want you to teach your sisters everything we say. Can you do that?”

“Nyx,” she repeated softly, testing the word. Her tail flicked. “Yes. I like it.”

He turned to the other two, still drowsy but watching with wide eyes.

“She will be Dalin,” Cid said, pointing gently to the first.

“And she will be Adal,” Fenrona added, her voice tender.

Nyx translated for them, nudging her sisters with her tail. They chirped in reply, curling closer against her side.

“Good,” Cid said. “But listen carefully—all of you. You must not leave this room. Not yet. It isn’t safe. Your mother will protect you while I’m away.”

“Yes, Father,” Nyx said solemnly.

As they stepped out of the room, Jesika was already in the hall—half-dressed, hair tangled, cheeks flushed from sleep.

“He’s still here?” Cid asked dryly.

Jesika’s face turned red. “Yes. I… I want to see them.”

“See who?” Cid asked, though his tone betrayed he already knew.

Jesika puffed her cheeks. “Don’t act dumb. I’m like a little sister to you, remember? So I have the right to meet my nieces.”

Cid sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone, Jess. Not even Bill.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

Fenrona opened the door gently, letting Jesika peek inside. The dragonlings were still curled together in the bed, Nyx’s tail draped protectively over her sisters.

“They’re adorable…” Jesika whispered, her eyes wide.

“Not so loud,” Fenrona chuckled. “You’ll wake them.”

Jesika stepped back, shutting the door carefully. “Can I help take care of them?”

“Of course,” Fenrona said warmly. “You’re their aunt now.”

Jesika grinned. “Thanks.”

Cid gave her a look. “And Jess… just remember to use protection next time.”

Jesika groaned. “I know, brother.”

“Brother?” Cid echoed, raising a brow.

“Well… aren’t we?” Jesika smiled faintly and wrapped her arms around him. “You always looked out for me. Always.”

Cid returned the hug after a beat. “…Yeah. I guess we are.”

“Love you, brother,” Jesika whispered before slipping away.

Cid stood in the quiet hall a moment, then turned to Fenrona. She stepped closer, laying her hand against his chest.

“Don’t be gone long,” she whispered, her ears low. “We’ve already been apart nearly a month…”

He kissed her—slow, lingering, full of warmth. “I won’t, honey. I’ll be back soon.”

Cid ran.

The desert blurred beneath him, dunes breaking like waves under his relentless stride. Hours bled together—sun, wind, and silence.

At last, it rose against the horizon: a fortress of black stone, twisted towers stabbing at the sky like crooked fangs. A broken watchtower leaned against the clouds, its shadow falling long across the sand.

“This must be the place…”

He didn’t hesitate.

The first guard didn’t even have time to scream. Neither did the second.

Cid moved like a phantom—silent, merciless, his blade whispering through flesh and armor. One by one they fell—guards, smugglers, black-market healers, the vermin who fattened themselves on the agony of dragons.

The corridors stank of blood, smoke, and burned scales. He tore through them all.

Cages rattled as he kicked doors open—inside, creatures writhed: dragons stripped of wings, beasts gutted and stitched back together, eyes glazed with pain. Some crawled free. Some were too broken to move.

And then, the heart of it.

The doctor.

He looked up from his table as the door exploded inward. A thin man, scalpel in hand, his coat spattered red. His face froze when he saw Cid.

“You,” Cid growled, voice low as stone breaking. “You will be judged by those you tormented.”

He seized the man by the collar and dragged him outside. The doctor clawed, begged, but Cid’s grip was iron. He cast him before the crawling survivors—the twisted, the broken, the abandoned experiments.

The doctor screamed as they closed in.

There was no mercy.

The air filled with wet tearing, shrieks, and the sound of teeth breaking bone.

Cid turned away. His shadow stretched long across the sand.

A voice followed him. Calm. Cold.

“You’ve done my job for me.”

He didn’t flinch. “Death.”

The figure was waiting, cloaked in endless black, the skull of a raven where a face should be. Empty sockets burned faintly in the dusk.

“These people didn’t deserve to live,” Cid said flatly.

“Indeed.” Death’s voice slithered like smoke. “You did what I could not. You chose to become the monster.”

Cid’s eyes flickered violet. His fists tightened. “If being a monster is what it takes to end this, then so be it.”

Death raised a skeletal hand. The air grew heavy, the corpses exhaling smoke. One by one, souls were ripped free, drifting like ash into the dark figure’s grasp.

“You keep proving me right, boy,” Death said, his form already dissolving into the wind. “Every step you take… you walk closer to me. Thanks for the help.”

The desert was silent again.

Only the broken cages, the freed beasts, and the blood he could not wash from his hands remained.

Back at the Tavern

The tavern door creaked open.

Cid stepped inside. Silence.

Bill was gone. Jesika was upstairs. Only Fenrona stood behind the counter, polishing a glass.

Her face fell the moment she saw him.

His cloak dripped red, soaked through with blood.

“Love…” her voice broke on the word.

“I’m going to shower,” Cid said quietly, without meeting her eyes.

Upstairs, the washroom filled with steam. The water ran hot, hissing against his skin as crimson swirled down the drain in curling streams. The smell of iron clung to him, stubborn and bitter.

He stared down at his hands.

Soaked. Stained.

No matter how much he scrubbed, the memory would not fade.

“Is this what I’ve become, Emy?” he thought, hollow. “Will you even recognize me anymore? Or will you turn away?”

The thought gnawed at him until soft arms wrapped around his back.

Fenrona pressed herself against him, her warmth seeping through the chill.

“I’m here, love,” she whispered, her voice steady even as her breath trembled. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Cid turned, and for the first time, let her see. His eyes burned—not from violet fire, not from cursed magic, but from tears.

She cupped his face in both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “My poor husband…”

He leaned into her palms, trembling, and kissed her.

The kiss was slow, fragile, but unshakably real—love tangled with grief, tenderness with despair.

“I will always love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“I know,” Fenrona said softly. “And I will always bring you back… no matter how far you fall.”

They returned to their room in silence. Moonlight spilled across the floorboards, silver and pale. The world outside remained heavy, but inside, her presence held him together. The weight pressed on him still, but it no longer crushed.

Cid’s eyes drifted toward the bed. The three dragonlings slept in a nest of blankets, curled together like embers of a fire not yet extinguished. Their small breaths filled the silence.

“All of you, listen,” he murmured, though they were asleep. His voice was low, steady, resolute. “In a week… we leave for the capital. Once we’re there, I’ll buy a house—one big enough for all of us. No more hiding. No more running.”

He didn’t wait for answers. There were none to give.

At last, exhaustion pulled him down. He climbed into bed.

“Finally,” Fenrona whispered, slipping into his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest. “Finally, I’ll get to meet your sister.”

Cid turned toward her, his eyes shadowed with years of unspoken fear. “After five years… I don’t know if she’ll recognize me, honey. Or even accept me.”

“She will,” Fenrona breathed, holding him tighter. “You’re her brother. I know she will.”

His head found her shoulder, his hand sliding instinctively to her belly. The rhythm of her heartbeat steadied him, gentler than any vow.

No more words were needed. Not tonight.

The ghosts of guilt receded into silence.

And together, they let sleep take them.