Ryllie stacks branches and leaves, building a rough bed in the clearing.
Her shoulders stay tight, her movements sharp. She doesn't want me around.
But when she finishes her bed, she makes another—smaller, rougher, but still there.
Night deepens, shadows stretching long. Fog curls through the trees, swallowing the moon until it's just a pale ghost overhead.
The air carries the sharp scent of blood.
Distant wolves howl.
A small flame sparks.
She presses it against the damp wood, forcing out the cold. Then, without a word, she settles into her nest of branches. I lean back against a tree, watching her, amazed. Fire forms so easily for her, bending to her will like it belongs to her.
I look at her wound—the one the wyvern left. It should hurt. It should slow her down. But she moves like she doesn't even feel it, like the wound is frozen in time, preserved in Var. Held in a perfect, unchanging state.
I wait as she finishes with the mats. They're similar to the ones from the cave but… different. There's effort in them, a care I didn't expect.
Still, I sit against a tree, lost in thought. Thinking about this world. Thinking about Ryllie.
She notices me watching and meets my gaze before settling against her mat.
Her deep violet hair stands out against the dark swamp, the thick trees, the blackened earth. A sharp contrast—something untamed in the midst of ruin. She's a beautiful dragon.
Her presence stirs something in me, a feeling I don't recognize. Her Var is deep and vast, but it isn't just power—it has a weight to it, a warmth.
It doesn't suffocate like the swamp or feel cold like the stars. It's something else. Something familiar. Like a home I had lost. A home I can't remember.
I want to ask her about her life, about her Law, about what a hundred years must feel like.
"What's wrong?" she asks, smiling.
A small circle of fire sparks to life in her palm. It flickers into a campfire.
The fire crackles low between us. Shadows stretching against the gnarled trees. Ryllie sits with her legs tucked beneath her. Her eyes half-lidded, watching the flames flicker.
The air is heavy with damp earth and blood. In the distance, wolves howl.
"Do you remember…" I ask. "The past hundred years?"
She tilts her head slightly, considering. "Some of it," she says. "But not all. It blurs together after a while."
"I'm just… going through motions someone else left behind."
I frown. "That sounds awful."
She shrugged.
"Memories fade. The more you live, the more you lose."
"Dragons are basically immortal," I say.
"It's a good thing we're not," she solemnly smiled.
"You wouldn't want to be immortal?"
Her answer is immediate. "No."
I blink. "No?"
She glances at me, the firelight making her gold eyes gleam.
"Everyone I love would die. Over and over. I'd be left behind." Her voice is quiet, matter-of-fact.
"There's a reason only the Tetravice are immortal."
"The Tetravice?" I echo, shifting against the tree.
"They're the squares of this world," she says. "The ones holding everything together. They make up the world's laws, its nature. Without them, everything collapses."
Beira.
The name nearly leaves my lips, but I swallow it down. Even when I remember, it feels distant—like something that was never really mine to keep.
Ryllie leans back, resting her arms behind her.
"Would you want to be immortal?" she asks.
I hesitate. "…I don't know." The words feel empty.
It was useful against the bear, I thought, though the scar is still engraved.
"I think it would be fun."
She looks at me for a long moment before shaking her head.
"Immortality would break this world's function. Everything here moves forward because it has to end."
I stare into the fire. This world. Built on endings.
A darker thought creeps in.
"Pain—torture, heartbreak, and loss with no end. They wouldn't be able to get close to anyone. Wouldn't dare." She mumbled.
"There's a reason only the strong, only the Tetravice, can afford to be immortal.
"Killing someone for power doesn't make sense." I interject.
I glance at her. "Would you?"
She exhales sharply through her nose. "If it was someone I knew?" A pause. "Probably not."
I let out a short laugh, shifting my tone to something lighter. "Good, because I'm actually immortal."
She snorts and punches my arm—not hard, but enough to make her point. "Well, I guess I have to harvest you, then."
I grin. "At least, kill me humanely."
She laughs. The fire crackles
"We should sleep," she mumbles.
"Yeah," I agree, shifting onto the mat beside her.
She closes her eyes beside me, the sounds of birds and wolves, wyverns flying overhead, keep me awake.
I wonder, for a moment, what she would do?
I am immortal.
No matter how many times I die, I will wake again. Would she see me as something unnatural? Something broken? Or would she simply accept it the way she does everything else?
She's stronger than me. I know that much. If she decided to kill me, I think she'd at least make it painless. A clean death. Better than what the other beasts in this world would do. The thought should scare me, but instead, it almost feels… comforting.