The wyverns' corpses plummet from the sky like rain. Blood follows, pouring in a crimson storm that soaks the ruined land.
A blood rain.
The black Var saturating this wretched continent. It vanishes into the blood, absorbed like some strange brew.
The blood strikes the ground with a deafening crash. The sound echoing through the forest. It's a familiar noise here. One that happens too often. Strange. Wyverns aren't like us. They have wings, horns—but no human features.
What I thought I knew about dragons means nothing here. It's a strange feeling. How much of What I understand will turn out to be wrong? What else in this world isn't what it seems?
Ryllie rips into the wyvern's corpse without hesitation. Her claws slice through flesh like it's nothing. Blood runs down her fingers as she tears out chunks of meat, eating with an endless hunger. She doesn't stop, doesn't care that the body is still warm. Her golden eyes gleam in the dim light, locked onto her meal like nothing else matters.
I turn away. The sound of tearing flesh, of meat pulled from bone—it's too much. The thick scent of blood fills the air. It clings to my tongue even though I haven't eaten.
She doesn't even look human. There's no hesitation, no thought. Just instinct. Like a beast. Like something that was never human to begin with.
I glance back. She sees me. Blood stains her lips, but her expression is unreadable. Then, slowly, she tilts her head, as if surprised I'm not doing the same.
Her claws dig into my arm.
"Eat."
Her voice is firm. She grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the corpse. I stumble.
She kneels beside the body, cupping her hands beneath a fresh wound. Thick red liquid pools in her palms, warm and dark. When she lifts her hands toward me, the blood shivers slightly, catching the light in a strange way.
"Drink it."
The words are simple. My stomach turns. The sharp scent of iron clings to my throat, refusing to let go.
My human instincts scream at me to refuse. To back away, to run.
But Ryllie's grip tightens. Her talons dig into my skin, sharp enough to draw tiny beads of blood.
I obey.
The blood touches my lips. It scalds my tongue like heated water. It should be disgusting. It should make me gag. But something inside me stirs. A hunger..
Dragons don't have to eat—not like humans do. At least, not as often. I try to remember a time when my mother ever fed me. Nothing comes to mind. She left me alone in that cave for months at a time. I never starved. Never even thought about it. Yet I've eaten more in the last few days than I ever did before.
I wasn't aware of what I was back then. Half-dragon, half-human. And now, as the wyvern's blood fills my stomach, the difference between my two halves has never been clearer.
More blood rains from the sky, splattering against the already-slick ground. I barely notice. My body moves on its own, my dragon instincts clawing their way to the surface. I grab Ryllie's wrist, pulling it closer, pressing her hands against my mouth.
My teeth graze her skin. Leaving faint indentations. She doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. If anything, she watches me with a look of satisfaction, as if this is what she wanted all along.
The blood on my tongue, the heat in my veins, the way my mind sharpens like a blade—it all feels right.
And that terrifies me.
I drink and drink, the taste of blood thick on my tongue. As it slides down my throat, Kundra's words echo in my mind—Every action you take leaves an imprint on the soul. Every choice has an impact.
Would this?
Would drinking the blood of a wyvern change me? Would I gain something from it? Is that why Ryllie did this?
The gap between us has never felt wider than it does now.
We eat our fill, stripping the corpse bare until only bones and shredded remains are left. Ryllie moves on to another wyvern, tearing into it without hesitation. I can't bring myself to do the same.
The thought lingers in my mind—What am I becoming?
I push it down, swallowing the unease like I swallowed the blood.
Ryllie finishes her meal and walks into the distance without a word. I follow. The landscape shifts from the open battlefield to a small clearing. Unlike the cave I grew up in, this place feels almost exposed. Ryllie begins stacking branches.
"Aren't you worried?" I ask.
She doesn't answer.
She doesn't need to.