Chapter Text
Sunlight scatters through breaks in the thick leaves. The woods did not welcome her like an old friend– thorns sprouting from trunks have already torn at the fine royal hunting leathers.
The crossbow sits like a curse upon her back, the wood digging in between her shoulder blades. The crest engraved there is fresh, the weapon crafted new for this specific purpose. This specific day. Her name day.
She moves through another batch of thickets, her eyes peeled like she’s been trained her whole life to do. Her senses have been primed and molded for the single purpose of delivering death. She stops as the wind rustles, the air tasting metallic on her tongue.
Something’s near. She keeps walking, appearing unassuming.
The ground is muddy under her boots, an oddity for the creatures she knows to inhabit this land. It took them all of three days to ride here, the carriages and horses exhausted by the end of it.
Caitlyn even more so.
Barrels of wine and crates of some of the finest Noxian meats had been delivered along with them, tents already up and waiting for their arrival. The stretch of plains and the river that separates man from beast.
Zaun is the land of fire and death. Dragons that have long scorched the earth with their fury a promise of destruction for centuries. She is not the first nor the last heir to the Kiramman throne to dare enter their domain.
“Every queen or king before you has had to go through the same ritual, Caitlyn,” her mother had lectured over supper the night before they were to head for the border. Her eighteenth name day has been something she couldn’t tell if she dreaded or revered.
Her father hummed in agreement, taking a bite of roast goose. “You can finally have your place in the Hall of Scales. Make your mark on the castle,” he said jovially. Ah, yes. The Hall of Scales. The trophy room for all her ancestors to mount their conquests on the walls. Horns and talons on plaques, their scales taken for whatever gem or jewel that heir requested. Her mother’s own is a crown made from the white talons of the dragon she conquered at her own hunting ceremony.
Envoys and rulers from across all of Runeterra have made the journey for decades to watch the next Kiramman heir slay a dragon. The ceremony is one of the most highly revered events since her mother’s coming of age.
She thanks every god and goddess above now that none of them can see through the thick wall of trees now. Every stumbling step she takes less confident than the last. She’d left two days ago, crossing the river without looking back. These ceremonies can take weeks depending on the season. Some, she read, lasted mere hours. The end result is always the same, though. A dead dragon and feasts for weeks.
The woods grow darker as she ventures further. She can tell she’s at least getting close to something, some of the trees carrying the remnants of their own scars– the wood charred and burnt.
She stops when she can no longer see in front of her, the moon hiding behind a cluster of thick clouds. The air smells thick and wet. Her campsite is small and brief. Embers barely lit enough to heat the morsels of meat she packed before she snuffs it out with her boot.
The next two days are the same. She wanders aimlessly through the woods, following the path of blackened wood and charred earth until the rain does inevitably catch her, soaking through her leathers and filling her boots.
“Hells,” she mutters, trying and failing to make some semblance of a tarp. But her fingers are frigid, her nameday of course falling in the dead middle of winter. She sits at a small bank now, the water far clearer than she expects to find here. Frankly, she’s been surprised by the vegetation in general. Resilient is what comes to mind.
She’s long since accepted that her feet would be freezing and her boots soaked. But it won’t deter her. It can’t. But she sits along the bank, attempting and failing to spear the fish that swim at her feet. She’d sharpened the edge of a sturdier stick with her father’s hunting knife until the wood was stripped and sharp.
Her stomach growls with frustration at every missed opportunity, the end spearing a bloody rock and dirt every time. She has enough food to last her, but the rations are small and not nearly filling enough to give her strength to take a down a full grown fucking dragon.
She keeps trying, stubbornly, refusing to waste her arrows on game that would probably be much easier. Except, she’s noticed a severe lack of anything other living creatures aside from herself. The evidence clear enough now.
And then she hears it.
The distinct sound of wind rushing. Wings taking to the sky and shadows dancing along the tips of the trees.
She freezes, crouching lower. Nothing moves for several heartbeats. The water the only sound she can hear aside from her thundering heart. She doesn’t hear talons greeting the earth. Just… nothing.
The skies are empty.
Not even birds dare to fly here.
She releases her breath, short and shallow, moving away from the stream. It’s too open here.
Caitlyn moves downstream, the instinct innate, like something beyond her pulls that direction.
It starts with a sudden prickle along the back of her neck. The hairs sitting at her nape stand on edge. And then she hears it again.
Almost like a… chuckling sound? That can’t be right.
Heat creeps up the length of her spine, the air in her lungs trapped. She reaches for the crossbow at her back, a presence finally making itself known.
Fear grips her like a vice, the moment suddenly so much larger than herself.
“Hunting is not just in the strength of your arm or the steel of your arrow. It’s in the patience you wield. Control your breath, keep your feet light, and remember this, young Kiramman: these beasts are not cattle for slaughter. They are godly in their own right. Keep the death clean. Respectful. Acknowledge their power and their place in this world. If you approach them with reverence, you may find they reveal more than you expect—perhaps even a glimpse of their true nature.”
Her mentor’s words rattle in her skull, reverberating in her fingertips as she grips the edge of the bow, the arrow made of iron steel, made to kill the predator she hunts, already lodged and loaded. The sword at her belt feels useless in the face of the creature’s presence alone.
This is it. This is the moment she’s been training for, regardless of her own wishes. She succeeds and she never has to do this again.
When she turns, the mud and dirt submits to her weight, and something feral she didn’t know was trapped in her throat comes out in a scream as she points the crossbow at the creature, teeth snarling—
Eyes the color of pure steel blink down at her. The sun glints off crimson colored scales— like the fine Noxian wine King Ambessa is so fond of. Deep and rich. The horns are even darker, something Caitlyn can’t quite discern circling one of them.
Wings cinch inward at the dragon’s back, their width no doubt longer and wider than anything she could imagine and Caitlyn swallows the strangest desire to touch them. She grips her crossbow tighter, her breath coming out in short pants. Yet she doesn’t pull the trigger. What’re you doing?
A deep rumble vibrates the ground under her boots, smoke curls out of the beast’s nostrils as they flare, and those eyes. They look almost– No. Then another sound vibrates from the dragon’s throat– not quite a growl, but it’s primal all the same.
Her whole life all she’s been taught is that these creatures– these beasts– have only one intention. That it can only be their life or the dragons’. And yet Caitlyn stands here, still and rigid, aim held right between the dragon’s eyes, her skull close enough she can count the scales. She breathes in. And out again. Her finger hasn’t moved.
And she’s struck with something so… familiar. Like she’s seen this creature before.
The dragon chuffs suddenly, steam rolling loose dirt and mud up on Caitlyn’s trousers. She still doesn’t move, doesn’t strike or release the arrow. She just stares. And before Caitlyn can even utter a word, the dragon’s lips curl, its eyes seemingly only just now aware of the weapon in Caitlyn’s hands.
Teeth sharper than any sword she carries fill her vision and she finally takes one cautious step back, her hands trembling. Something heavy and quick clips Caitlyn’s hands, her weapon– now nothing more than shattered wood and steel– lies in a heap at the base of a tree. The dragon’s tail lands with a soft, indignant thud before a true growl rips through the air.
Caitlyn’s head whips back to face the beast, mouth agape and a long list of curses on her tongue when the dragon bares its teeth again, eyes hard.
She only briefly realizes fear doesn’t wrap around her spine at the sight or even at the way her fingers sting. No, instead, all she can do is gape at the dragon who looks far too smug for her liking. She’s well and truly frustrated now.
Hands on her hips, she opens her mouth to speak–
Wind rushes against her then, blowing her hair loose of its tail as the dragon’s wings stretch out as wide as the trees allow. The rush sends Caitlyn landing on her ass, incapable of doing nothing more than watch the creature take flight, breaking tree limbs on its way up.
The memory comes back to her with the sound of distant wings disappearing into more oncoming clouds. She’d been no more than five or six, just barely reaching Ser Grayson’s knees.
And the dragon couldn’t have been much larger than herself.
She doesn’t remember much. But what she does recall is how afraid the creature looked. Those same silver eyes wide and wings tucked tight on her back.
Her.
Caitlyn shakes her head. She’d followed Ser Grayson into the woods, slipping past her mother’s guards. She expected the knight to send her back the moment she found the young prince on her tail but she just shook her head fondly, hoisting her up in her arms. “The things I’ll do for that woman and her rambunctious daughter,” she’d muttered. Whatever that meant.
They found the carcass in a rotted heap, steam rolling off the beast’s belly. Caitlyn hadn’t looked fully, something inside her gut curling both at the horror of its mangled body but also at the sudden, overwhelming sense of sadness. The feeling was too large for her body.
Grayson set her down paces back, telling her to stay put. But Caityn could only sit still for so long, bored and restless watching the knight and her company assess what to do with the dead beast, its scales violet and gray now with decay.
Her feet carried her like she had somewhere specific to go. She wandered for some time before she heard rustling. A small chirp that made Caitlyn still.
She’d found her in a hovel dug in the earth, curled around herself. A small red ruby against the dark dirt and green leaves. She hadn’t been struck with fear then either. Only an overreaching curiosity.
Silver eyes watched her own, nostrils flaring as Caitlyn took a step. Then another. The small creature still didn’t move, in fact, she lifted her head, horns still small nubs on her head.
All Caitlyn could think was how small the creature looked. Upon a closer look, she realized her scales held almost a pink tinge to them, her wings almost clumsy looking on her back. And behind her, a sapphire of a creature is curled up even smaller.
Neither of them moved, the red one merely sniffing the air, eyes watching Caitlyn’s every breath. She wanted so badly to touch, to go against her mother’s voice in her head.
“Caitlyn!”
Someone yanked her arm, hoisting back away from the now growling dragon, the sound earning raised blades. Grayson ordered them to lower their weapons, that this creature is nothing more than a scared animal.
“Please don’t hurt them,” Caitlyn cried, stilling when the knight hushed her.
Caitlyn felt tears prick her eyes for a reason she wouldn’t be able to name for many years. But that moment has resonated with her. Watching a knight of her mother’s Queen’s guard choose to spare the very creatures they’ve always hunted.
She hardly remembers all that came after that. But she’d remember those eyes anywhere, she realizes now.
And it strikes her now as it did then. As it has for as long as she can remember. She couldn’t kill a dragon.
A fact she’ll have to contend with when she returns to the royal camp days later empty handed. Her mother’s eyes have never looked so cold.
🐉
Caitlyn tries to find the dragon again. For months she makes it her mission. Even if she only catches a glimpse of red scales, she’ll take what she can get.
She ignores the whispers around the castle. The Prince with no wings, they’ve begun to call her among other things. Disdainful gazes and jeers that are louder than they should be are tossed in her direction throughout her halls.
The only person who didn’t seem to look down their nose at her is Grayson. They don’t speak of it during their training, but she knows the older woman to be someone who would voice her disappointment, her closeness to Caitlyn’s mother granting her levels of freedom Caitlyn has long since learned not to question.
Her saddle and the woods become her refuge. She hunts the creature with an obsession she’s never known.
What she’ll do when she finds her, Caitlyn doesn’t know. All she can be certain of is she just wants another look. Before her nameday, she’d only ever seen their carcasses or the paintings plastered in the halls of her home. And the fledgling.
She gets what she wants at the first turn of the summer. Power reeks from her body, wings wide and beautiful in a way Caitlyn can’t put words to. Only that she embodies the very flames she breathes.
The dragon keeps her distance this time, not daring to approach Caitlyn again. The prince dares only a few more steps into the clearing, grass tickling the edges of her knees. The dragon lowers her head, steel eyes narrowed. But… not threatening. Caitlyn can hardly breathe.
“It’s you,” she hears herself whisper as she crouches in the tall grass. The dragon chuffs, nostrils flaring with a low rumbling sound. She can see the way the muscles tense even from here a whole clearing away.
They sit there, unmoving with a sea of wild grass between them until the sound of another pair of wings whooshing high above startles them both. Caitlyn doesn’t move, heart thrumming as she waits for the moment to turn, for the dragon to remember herself and end Caitlyn once and for all. Or for her companion to land and finish the job. But instead, red wings take to the skies again, the clouds swallowing her whole.
Caitlyn doesn’t move for hours after.
This happens several more times. Caitlyn sneaks away from the confines of her castle walls and sheds the cloak of her duties to breach the woods she’s not supposed to enter.
Caitlyn can’t tell if, after the first time, the dragon is the one finding Caitlyn or the other way around. But each time the dragon gets closer and closer. Her eyes seem almost… softer. Curious even. She never gets too close, though. There’s still waves of dense green between them, the sun hot and punishing where Caitlyn finds her perch each time.
It contradicts everything she’s ever been taught. Dragons are death incarnate– never hesitating to take the kill. And yet, this one just watches her as Caitlyn watches in return. Only an occasional growl or curious chuff when Caitlyn dares to take a step, making sure any weapon she has is left behind her.
She reaches a tentative hand out one day when the distance between them is a long stone’s toss, the gesture meant to be placating. And she thinks the dragon might close the distance, her head tilting to the side, neck craning.
The wind blows gently against Caitlyn’s back, rustling the loose strands of her hair. She freezes when the dragon’s nostrils flare as they so often do when Caitlyn first arrives. And then she hears the dragon make a sound she’s never heard. Almost a… purr?
She takes a small step where she’s crouched, whispering, “it’s alright,” before a twig snaps under her weight. The moment breaks like shattering glass, the dragon shaking her head. Red wings expand wide, veins almost like crystals catching the sunlight, and she’s gone, leaving gusts of wind and the smell of earthy smoke behind.
Time drags her through the heat of summer until autumn colors the leaves in ways that Caitlyn can’t help but recognize in red scales now, their webbing matching that of powerful wings. And Caitlyn returns to the woods, to one of the clearings that feels like… hers. Theirs.
When she finds nothing in those early fall days, she chalks it up to bad luck. Her timing is just off. But as she continues to venture out, finding different clearings, going south instead of north, sitting by small rivers or even as far as walking toward the base of one of the misty mountains, she finds nothing. For months after she returns, ignoring the chastising remarks from her mother or the slight frown from her father.
But Caitlyn never sees the dragon again.
🐉
“You can’t be serious, Cait.”
Caitlyn sighs, strapping each knife into their hilts along the vest of her armor. Jayce, her brother in every way but blood, lounges in the windowsill, expression exasperated. She ignores it.
“I’m perfectly serious.”
Jayce sighs, slow and long. “You realize your mother will lose her mind if she finds out.” He says after a moment. He takes a bite of an apple, the sound making Caitlyn’s skin crawl.
She finishes gathering her supplies, her satchel thick with everything she thinks she’ll need . Her sword, damascus steel made by the very man sitting in her window, and the crossbow she feels she doesn’t deserve hang from her back and waist, both heavy and formidable.
“Which is precisely why she won’t hear of it. I’ll be back by nightfall and you will keep your mouth shut,” She warns, turning to face him, lips stretching thin. He rolls his eyes, groaning. “Besides, I think I can catch it this time.” She says that more to herself than anyone.
Jayce stands from his perch, face twisted in a grimace. “Cait… I know you want to prove yourself but they’re dangerou–”
“It’s not about that,” Caitlyn snaps. She smoothes her hair out of her face, the strands having grown longer over the past few years. “It’s about our southern villages being burned to the ground and nothing being done about it.”
Jayce’s shoulders deflate. They’ve had this argument before, she knows. And it isn’t a lie. The uptick in casualties has grown significantly these past few seasons. All of them sporadic and appear to have no pattern at all. It’s exactly what makes Caitlyn drawn to them. “Where should I tell her you are this time?” Jayce sighs, tossing his half eaten apple in the air.
Caitlyn doesn’t meet his eye, guilt a light pressure in her chest. “Tell her I’ve gone to patrol near the southern port.” It’s not a complete lie, she supposes. It’s where she would be had she not been suddenly stationed to a worthless post of guarding her mother's garden. She shakes her head at the thought.
Her knighthood was a spectacle and debate of whether she should be allowed to don armor of any kind when she returned without a dragon horn or tooth or any evidence having slain a beast at all.
It took her winning some six tourneys for her mother to reconsider, hoping the years after have somewhat dulled the colossal disappointment she’d become. It hadn’t. But she found herself knighted regardless. But she was not to join the rank of knights who hunted dragons. No. She’d lost that “privilege.”
“And what about Marcus?” Jayce asks, making to leave her chambers. He tosses his apple core into a bin, boots heavy as he walks toward the doors. Caitlyn stills, a grimace twisting her face automatically.
“I can handle Marcus later if it comes to it,” she decides with a growl. “I’ve done it before.”
“And it went well every time he caught you on his tail,” Jayce deadpans.
Frustration bubbles in her gut at the thought of the man who made sure she never saw combat or anything akin to it. The man who replaced Ser Grayson with merit Caitlyn couldn’t fathom beyond dumb luck. She can still remember his sneer vividly when she’d sauntered back up the steep hill, pulling the tent flaps open to reveal her fate.
Jayce claps her shoulder now, eyes holding his usual older brother worry. “Promise me you’ll be safe, at least? I don’t think I can survive another interrogation from her about why you come back from benign patrols injured.”
Caitlyn smirks. “I’ll do my best.”
“Don’t get eaten or I don’t know– burnt to a crisp.”
Caitlyn chuckles ruefully. In truth, she isn’t worried about the dragons. She hasn’t been in some time. In fact, she’s been plagued by dreams of crimson wings and eyes of steel for years. She can still hear the way the wind bent under her, the way it caved and moved like the creature was its master. A god like Grayson always said.
She hasn’t seen the dragon in years. She tried to look months later but she found nothing. Not even a whisper of smoke. Caitlyn hasn’t examined why that fact has made her chest feel hollow for years. She thought maybe she regretted not pulling the trigger, for not being what her mother had trained her to be.
But she can’t truly find it in herself to regret it. The thought of the creature dying under her hands makes her sicker than it should.
🐉
She likes to think herself an excellent tracker despite everything. Grayson taught her well in that regard before she died. And gods does she clings to those lessons with both hands now as she wanders through the woods, the border a tangible thing.
This village– or what’s left of it– sits closer to Zaun than most. The river and thick wall of trees separates them from what’s beyond. Rolling hills and a mountain in the far distance also serve as some form of barriers, but clearly not enough.
She’d done a thorough search in the remains, hands running over burnt hay and melted brick. She waited intentionally for Marcus and his company to depart a few days before, not wanting to encounter another sneering look or mocking remark or reprimand.
But she doesn’t trust his findings either. She doesn’t believe that a lone dragon takes to the skies only to dive downward and unleash ungodly flames upon them. Not with the way the livestock is left. She would think they would prefer to eat them rather than burn them. It doesn’t add up.
She can see the remnants of his search, the people who survived having been led to safety miles away. She wishes she could have caught some of them, to ask her questions but she supposes she’ll have to wait to head that route when she knows the commander has departed for the Keep again.
A trail of prints that look like talons and charred earth leads her to where she wanders now through thickets and daunting trees. She kneels down, pinching the burnt dirt between her gloved fingers, her crossbow digging into her back with the effort.
The tracks look almost too… intentional. Staged, if Caitlyn’s being honest. But she follows their trail anyways, curiosity always her shadow. She leaves her horse tied to a post near what’s left of the stables, running a comforting hand over the steed’s snout. “I’ll be back before nightfall,” she whispers. She hopes she’s right.
Pushing the foliage aside, she breaches the border into Zaun. With every step, Caitlyn can’t help but be reminded of those months she’d spent in the woods after her nameday. Of the way the wind was a whispered question on her skin. She hasn’t dared venture this far since then. Not after Grayson’s death, her duties a crushing weight she shouldered with as much pride as she could muster. She wanted to do the knight proud if nothing else.
These woods are different, though. Darkness rivals the daylight here. The smell is more acrid and where Caitlyn could normally pick out some semblance of life from smaller creatures like the game her father loves to hunt– rabbits and elk that have been able to thrive closer to Piltover.
Here, she senses none of that. Not even insects buried in the dirt. She keeps following the hints of a trail, not sure if the end will find her face to face with a beast or man. Eventually, the trees yawn open again into a rolling valley and Caitlyn isn’t sure if she should continue, the trail now cold.
She huffs, frustrated as she mulls her options, the sun already beginning to sink. She keeps walking.
The prince freezes when she hears it. A rumble that rivals thunder. Wind not caused by nature alone and a shadow that curses the sky. Excitement rivals any semblance of fear until she whips around, blade drawn when a dragon larger than any she’s ever seen lands, crushing the tree trunks, effectively blocking her way back.
Caitlyn feels the air rush out of her lungs, something much colder taking its place. But her legs stay firmly planted, knuckles white around the hilt of her sword. A stupid choice, in hindsight. Long blades have never been her specialty.
She knows within the next breath this encounter will be nothing like the ones she sought after for months. That this dragon just might prove her mother and King Ambessa right– the Noxian ruler having made her opinion on the creatures known in her extended stay as her mother’s health seems to decline.
This dragon is covered in deep set scars, scales a shimmering green that reflect the very forest behind them. With every predatory move it makes, the scales reflect hues of purple. But Caitlyn can only focus on the bared teeth, the drool that leaks from its jaw.
It lunges forward, jaw snapping close to Caitlyn’s face. She dives to the side, rolling until she finds shaky footing again. She curses, throwing the sword to the ground and reaches for the crossbow, arrow already knocked and aimed. She releases it, watching in horror as the arrow merely lodges itself in the beat’s skin but does nothing to deter it from snapping again.
Caitlyn reaches for another arrow, fingers trembling as she knocks the steel in place. She doesn’t get the chance to release this one, the tail swinging forward striking her so hard she can’t breathe, the bow falling out of her hands before its talon crushes the wood like it's nothing.
She tries to stand, to breathe, to do anything. But she feels frozen in place, unable to do more than watch as the dragon’s jaw unhinges, opening to reveal the growing flames. She’s going to die.
This beast will surely kill her. Smoke fills the air around them, hues of light color the beast’s throat and all Caitlyn can do is brace for the torrent of flames. She squeezes her eyes shut.
Caitlyn doesn’t see the shadow looming overhead. But she feels the way a gust of wind blankets her instead of flames and a roar that could split the earth pierces her ears. She watches in stunned awe and horror as the dragon she swore she’d never forget dives through the trees, talons tearing through the thick flesh of the other.
Heat tears through the air as red wings spread wide, shielding her from the onslaught. She’ll examine what that means later.
They clash together like gods of war and thunder, teeth bared and flames licking down their tongues. Caitlyn scrambles on her haunches, adrenaline rushing through her blood as she looks for her blade. For what good it’ll do her.
She watches as they circle each other, her dragon staying strategically between Caitlyn and the green beast. Dark purple liquid oozes from them both, their growls and roars reverberating through the valley and Caitlyn’s own body.
Are they… speaking to one another? She files that away in her mind, still enraptured by the way they both move, the way anger emanates from them both.
The green dragon meets Caitlyn’s terrified eyes, and makes to lunge again. Only, it doesn’t make it another step before the red opens her jaws, flames pouring out, wings spreading again with a protectiveness Caitlyn can’t discern.
And she, once again, can do nothing more than watch as the dragons, still in the heat of their fight, take to the skies in a mesh of clashing wings and tails. They disappear into the clouds and Caitlyn cranes her neck, legs still not moving, her breath held tight in her lungs. She needs to move. She needs to get away from this clearing- out of the depths of Zaun.
But what finally makes her legs work again, thighs pumping with a tight numbness is watching what can only be her red dragon falling from the sky.