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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.  

Chapter Text

The sky opens its jaws as she falls. The clouds fan out and evaporate against the heat of her, as if it’s forgotten the sky is meant to be the home of this body she’s in. That her wings were born of the sun itself.

But she just keeps falling.

She knows, deep down, that coming here wasn’t a mistake. That her body would have allowed for nothing else. Not when the scent hit her. It came to her on a distant, fearful wind. She didn’t think she’d ever smell it again after everything.

It curled around her senses, her mind refusing to grapple with what it meant but her body propelling her towards it anyways. Just as it always has.

Mine.

And yet, she doesn’t even know her name.

The word and sensation has curled around her mind for years. The part of her that has only ever been a slave to her own instincts—to the pull she has no say in dragging her out of her father’s kingdom. It brought her to the edge of their borders, the scent so mouthwateringly sweet Vi never stood a chance.

And it’s why she’s falling through the sky right now, her right wing immobile—the pain sharp and debilitating. She can still taste the woman’s fear on her tongue, bitter and acidic.

She doesn’t even know the woman’s name. But she can see her in her mind as her vision fades, Sevika soaring back to the crude version of her home, no doubt. Silco’s had his way with it, and she can accept that she’ll never see it or her sister again.

And now she’ll never see her m—

The treetops are not kind when she lands. The bark is sharp against her scales, the ground caving in when her body makes its impact. Her bones rattle inside this body, and yet all she can grasp is the color blue.

🐉

Hands—human hands—touch along her neck. They’re frantic, the fingers trembling along her scales. Vi can’t open her eyes yet, every breath she takes sends pain shooting down to the tip of her tail. She should be dead. Why isn’t she?

A voice that almost rivals her smell washes over her, the sound sweet and lilted. “Just hold on,” the voice calls. Pressure against her neck makes her huff, steam rolling up her throat. How long has she been lying here? She needs to move. She needs to get away from here before—

A growl rumbles up her throat when she tries to move her wing, pain like nothing she’s ever felt shoots white hot flames over her body. Fuck. The voice comes back into focus, those same hands touching her face force her eyes to peel open. “Easy, easy, easy,” the woman mutters. “I think your wing is broken, try not to move it. I’m going to try and find something to help.”

She’s just as beautiful as Vi remembers, her smell just as tantalizing.

And yet she can’t have her.

For years Vi has fought the thrum in her blood. She’s denied it since that first day in Talon Wood. When her scent called Vi like a beacon in dark waters. Her wings were in control, her mind wrapped in the fires she was born from urging her on until she landed in the field face to face with… a human.

She’d left Powder alone that day—it was her first flight outside the city after all. The sudden pull deep in her chest had her diving away from the clouds, the innate direction unknown to her. But when she landed, she felt the world narrow and widen all at once. 

She denied it the moment she returned home, unable to meet Vander’s eye. He’d eyed her warily, knowingly, like he knew her world had shifted. But one quirked brow in question had Vi stuttering and scoffing, denial clogging her throat. She has yet to say the word to herself—won’t say it now, even. 

Vi watches her now with narrowed eyes, a bizarre desire to shift rippling down to her tail. She can’t shift like this though, her human form would crumple in anguish. And even then, Vi hasn’t shifted… It’s been years. She left her city in this form and hasn’t had the heart to shift back since. Not if she wanted to survive and not be hunted in her isolation—exile, her dragon growls. Can she even still do it? Would she even be able to walk or—

But she wishes to at least speak to the woman who’s haunted her dreams for years, to ask why on earth she’d come here for her. The woman’s hands are cool against Vi’s neck, and it dawns on her that this woman still has the same reckless courage as before. She doesn’t smell an ounce of fear—at least not the kind she’s used to smelling from humans. This woman’s fear tastes like something far different. Worry.

The woman mutters to herself as she continues checking Vi’s sprawled form. She’s pretty sure she landed on a tree, its long trunk digging into her side. She tsks, taking a step back. The late afternoon sun shines down in scattered rays through the branches, painting her skin with an ethereal light. Her clothes are just as rich looking as all the other times Vi’s seen her. Fine leathers and tall boots. But her tunic and pants are covered in dirt and blood. Vi’s blood, she realizes hazily. 

“I’m going to go a–and find something to stabilize that for you. Stay right there,” she says, her face growing determined as steel itself. Vi blinks at her, huffing steam through her nose. “Right,” she mutters to herself, fingers coming up to rub at the spot between her eyes.

 But when she turns to leave, the sound that escapes her throat is so pathetic she wishes she could swallow it down. It’s the closest thing to a whimper, a fucking pleaded whimper, this form can make, irrationally not wanting her to leave. To warn her that these woods aren’t safe, that Silco’s lands are a bloody anarchy now. And Sevika knows what she is… Gods above, how she hates her conflated brain sometimes. The woman turns on her heel, eyes wide and lips parting in a silent question.

Vi closes her eyes, the embarrassment of this loud in her chest. And yet, she can’t stop the way her insides still sing miineee as she watches—smells the woman walking further away. She huffs to herself, slumping further into the ground, tree trunk be damned, and falls into a restless sleep, the sounds and scent of the woman the only comfort she can cling to.

🐉

She dreams of fire soaked ashes. Her city—her home—now a bloodied mess of stone and flesh. She’s running on two legs instead of four, the markings on her body burn and rage under her skin. She should’ve seen this coming. The discontented whispers had been growing louder and louder, their people growing as rageful as the man who incited all of this. 

She runs harder, dodging the flames as they pour down from above. She just has to make it back before—

Vi wakes to the sound of leaves crunching under boots and cursing. She would laugh if she could at hearing this woman curse. But she peels her eyes open, the sight of the woman making her chuff despite the pain. She needs to get this under control.

Blue eyes snap to her, the bundle of sticks almost clumsy looking in her arms. 

“Oh, thank gods, you’re alive,” she sighs, dropping her pile to the ground. Vi watches her carefully, chest rumbling when she unsheathes a knife. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s held a weapon to Vi. Only this time she doesn’t have the energy to swat it away. “Don’t worry, I’m only trying to help you,” she says, kneeling to make whatever contraption she thinks will help a broken dragon wing.

Vi has no choice, no voice to ask questions or warn her away. She can only watch until she approaches with what looks like a splint. Vi bares her teeth, regretting immediately when the woman flinches. Her insides are a war of instinct, all of them contradicting themselves. But, of course, the one that wins out is the most sacred one—the one that screams to never hurt her m—

Vi moves, pain white hot again all over, but she tries to show her that she’s safe. It must be enough because the midnight woman takes a tentative step forward, whispering words of comfort that makes Vi’s head fuzzy. She can’t stop the low growl that comes when she gently—oh so gently—lifts her wing, placing the crude splint under it. 

She’s never seen a human handle her kind this way. Not with this much gentleness or… care. Vi can’t fathom why. She’s only ever seen them with their steel tipped weapons and fearful, angry eyes. The stories from her childhood nightmares all paint the tales of their kind being hung on walls in bits and pieces.

But not this one. Something in her preens at the thought. Of course she wouldn’t. She’s my ma—

The sound of cloth ripping gets her attention, and she starts as she watches the woman tear parts of her own clothes to tie the splint in place. “There,” the woman huffs, taking a tentative step back. Vi finally looks away from her, neck shifting to look at her wing. She’d be remiss to say it hasn’t helped but wariness still guards her heart. This area isn’t safe—if not for Silco then this very woman’s kind are the danger. “Try not to move it too much. I have to return before someone comes looking for me, but I’ll come back soon. A friend of mine specializes in medicines and I’m sure I can snag something,” she says.

The woman looks her over, her own clothes now surely ruined. Something in her face is still distressed. Vi can’t fathom why, though. But this human has confused and enraptured her for years. “Although… Will the other dragon come back to hurt you?” She asks, teeth worrying her bottom lip. All Vi can think is how… sweet she seems. And she finds herself craving the honeycakes Babbette used to make for her.

By now, the sun has dipped below the treeline, dusk painting the sky the color of ashen flames. And Vi watches this midnight colored woman before her, the human’s mind clearly racing by the way she mutters to herself. Vi wants to reassure her, although she knows Silco and his ilk will surely have scented her by now.

She landed at the unspoken border, Piltover and Zaun divided by the woods and river and no shifter crosses unless waging the war Silco wants or if they have to. She can’t tell how far her mountain is from here, the formidable fortitude she’s taken residence since—

But she can’t say this. She can’t say anything and hasn’t yearned to speak in so long it scares her.

The woman seems to come to a conclusion, although it doesn’t seem to satisfy her. She takes a small step toward her, hands outstretched like she means to touch her. Vi grimaces internally as her instincts make her teeth bare quickly. The woman nods, stepping back again. “I don’t know if you can even understand me but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just… stay here. Please. I think this area is hidden enough.” She gestures around them. The trees are thicker here, dense and seemingly untouched.

Vi huffs through her nose, unable to do anything else but blink at her. Whether she wants to or not, the plea takes root in Vi’s chest, hope the smallest kindle there. And with that, she watches her retreat.

🐉

Vi doesn’t know when she decided she would call the woman “Honeycake” but she can’t seem to help it when the woman keeps her promise, returning not even two days later, arms laden with—

Her body moves before her mind can catch up, her stomach twisted in angry, painful hunger knots at the smell. She ignores the way the other enticing smell seems to breathe life back into her. 

“I don’t even know what your kind eats besides… well… oh!” Vi’s teeth sink into the salmon, the pain in her wing finally easing with it. “I wish I could’ve carried more,” she hears the woman say, lips pulled back in a smile that makes her chest rumble without permission. She would be embarrassed if it didn’t conjure the most gorgeous sound she’s ever heard.

Honeycake laughs, revealing a small gap between her teeth that makes Vi’s heart stumble, another sound she wishes she could swallow purrs under her scales. She eats another fish like the very beast she is, delighted when it earns the lilting sound again. “You eat like quite the menace.”

Vi licks her lips, nosing the ground on shaky legs around the woman. Her scent is even sweeter this close up, the gravity of it all making her retreat quickly. But it doesn’t faze Honeycake, her face only holding amused curiosity. She doesn’t try to come closer, though.

“I brought something else for you—it’s what took me so long,” she says nervously. Vi swallows the fish practically whole as she watches Honeycake reach for the satchel over her chest.

Her right wing stays tucked against her back, the splint doing its job but the food alone is already helping the healing process. That and—

She pulls out some sort of vial, the color shimmering in a familiar way that makes her snarl. Without another thought, her tail whips forward, shattering the glass in Honeycake’s hand.

“Wha—? What on earth are you doing?”

Vi sits back on her haunches, satisfied with herself. She knows that vial contained the very thing that wars have been started over. She would have no part in it and she feels herself grow cold at the idea of her ma—of this woman thinking giving her that would be a good idea.

The woman stares at the emptied contents on the ground, mouth agape. When she looks back up, her eyes so wide, so blue Vi almost forgets her anger. Honeycake starts pacing, hands on her hips. “Unbelievable. I go through the trouble of sneaking into Jayce’s lab, stealing a tonic for a bloody dragon and this is how you behave? Do you not wish to fly?”

Vi just watches her, the pain in her wing jolting her at the mere mention of flying. She thinks of her solitude, of the mountain she’s taken refuge in all these years. Her grief stains the stone there, the woods around her void of life for fear of her wrath. Stillwater woods haven’t seen a soul enter them since she found herself crashing into them all those years ago. It was the last time she let herself shift, her human form demanding space to scream before she couldn’t deal with the pain, donning her wings forever.

The night comes back to her with another violent pang. Of her home burning to the ground, of Silco’s unseeing eye as he betrayed the man he called ‘brother’. The threat that sent her flying into a cloudy sky still rings in her ears—that her sister wouldn’t live to see another day, her brothers already having met that fate.

Below her, Honeycake still paces, ranting and raving at Vi’s recklessness to begin with and that she surely will be stripped of her knighthood if she’s caught. She misses being able to laugh. Her ma—she would be a knight, wouldn’t she? 

Vi herself held a similar title once. A knight and prince of her people, bastard born but accepted as Vander’s heir nonetheless. Not that power interested her. No. What drove her was wanting to keep her people safe from being hunted for sport, to protect them from what Silco has fallen into anyway. Bartering lesser shifters for his own personal gain to humans.

By now, her human has stopped pacing, her face red in the cheeks as she steps into Vi’s space. She glares up at where Vi perches, both of them staring until the woman huffs. “If you don’t want my help then I guess I’ll—I’ll leave you be,” she says haughtily. “You are a dragon after all. And in the future, I am perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you.”

Vi does chuff at that, a low growl growing in her throat. Fine. If she wants to leave, who is Vi to stop her? And little does this woman know that Vi will forever be unable to stop herself from coming to her aid, clearly. If she were, she would have stayed in her mountain, unperturbed by the demanding scent of her fear. She would have fought the bone deep need to fly to her, to have her own flesh torn by the shifter who betrayed her entire family. But no. The moment the sweet smell hit her nose, the moment fear bittered the taste of it on her tongue, Vi had no choice.

Just like now as she watches the woman give her one more glance before turning on her heel, leaving Vi in her stubborn wake. But then, she stops, looking over her shoulder. “I won’t be back, just so you know.”

Vi growls, talons digging into the earth as she watches midnight hair disappear into the woods.

🐉

She comes back not even a day later, a full basket of fish strapped to her back, her sword glinting in the morning sun as she approaches.

“Don’t say a word,” she chastises, pointing a slender finger towards where Vi is now curled up.

Vi tried to leave shortly after Honeycake, her pride more bruised than she would ever dare admit. But one stretch of her wing sent a garbled cry out of her throat. She hadn’t noticed the pain much when she was here, the implication of that not lost on her. Shifters aren’t supposed to mate with humans. That fact had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember, the lesson wrapped in so many voices, her own included. And yet…  She shoves the stirring in her chest down anyway, gives it a home with her guilt and shame.

She wishes she could swallow the noise she emits at the sight of her, though. It’s just the fish, she reasons, the scales shimmering as Honeycake pours the contents on the ground. She notices there’s far more than salmon this time, other game littering the ground that makes her mouth water. All except one– the stench of bird she’s brought makes Vi growl on instinct. The woman looks at her quizzically, watching as Vi shoves it away. And then, she chuckles, hand on her hip. “Goose has never been my favorite either.”

 Vi waits another moment, watching the woman find a seat on a broken stump after throwing the goose to the side, elbows on her spread knees. Vi lunges for a fish, not looking up as she begins to speak. 

“Dragon or no, I… My mother and her emissaries believe a dragon is behind another burned village and I just…” She sighs, looking to the side. Vi swallows, looking up where her human sits, face pensive. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them finding you out here while you’re like this.”

The admission seems to take them both aback, the stubborn part of her brain preening and purring at her words. Vi takes a tentative step forward, breathing in. The pain in her wing lessens, no doubt from the food and nothing to do with the woman who brought them. And then she speaks again, face soft. “I’ve never killed a dragon before.” 

Vi stills, the woods around them whispering in the quiet breeze, birds chirping high above the treeline. She briefly thinks of Sevika, of why none of them have come to finish the job yet. They must believe she’s truly dead this time. She brushes off the thought, breaking in again, tendrils of smoke exhaling from her nose, the silver pierced there burning.

The words don’t come as a surprise for some reason. She remembers as clear as the sky above the first time she saw her, weapon aimed with every intent of striking. But even then, her eyes held none of the hate she’s seen in humans before.

“They will never stop hunting us. You shouldn’t have gotten that close,” Vander said gruffly. His human skin was aged, the marks that paint him darker and darker. Vi sat, chest tight and mind whirring. She returned from the wood hours ago, empty handed and no explanation.

But Vander knew with one look at her what had happened.

“She just… looked at me. She didn’t even try to—”

“You got lucky, Vi,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve told you over and over that the northside is off limits. What if Powder followed you? Or Mylo or Claggor?”

Vi bit the inside of her cheek, eyes looking up to catch Powder hiding behind a column. Her knee started bouncing, the new mark that wraps around her wrist hidden beneath leather wraps aches. She can’t verbalize that she didn’t have a choice. That her wings carried her without permission towards—

“It won’t happen again.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t plan to,” the woman says with a small smile. It doesn’t hide the rueful way she says it, tension clear cut along her brow. Like the decision both adds and takes weight from her. Vi feels something unlock in her chest, dead embers rustling like loose leaves between her ribs. “My whole life I’ve been told that all dragons want is carnage but I just can’t see that. Not from you, at least. I can tell you have a good heart.”

🐉

The days pass like minutes. Each one sees Vi grow stronger, the pain in her wing lessening with each sunrise that brings midnight hair and a pair of cerulean eyes. Vi truly expected her to stop coming at some point, for her to abandon her for whatever life she leads. But each day or two she arrives, different meats presented to her in gentle offerings. Kind hands examine her wing before she pulls out a small sketchbook, charcoal staining her fingers.

  She ignores the way each day this woman comes to her she feels her insides hum and pull at her with the desperate need to shift. Each new fact she learns about her she finds herself tucking it away, guarding it like the treasure humans think dragons hoard (this tale Vi always found the most amusing growing up). The woman is obviously noble if her clothes are anything to go by. Gold glints off her belts and her sword. Her bow is carved from fine wood, patterns far more delicate than Vi would have guessed are etched along the sleek curve. And a gilded crest adorns the leather over her chest—two intersecting keys that look familiar… 

The woman takes her job as a knight seriously, often regaling about the poor structure of their entire system, how her parents would rather keep her sheltered than allow her the freedom to do more than “petty guard duty”. Vi chuffed at that, imagining this strong-willed woman guarding a petty room. She finds it odd her parents have such sway over her, but she supposes she isn’t one to talk. Her understanding of noble human families is already sparse and by the sounds of it, they’re just as atrocious as the baron clans she grew up around.

Her inclination to call her honeycake seems to be a good one when she brings her own namesake with her one afternoon.

“Can dragons eat these? Oh!”

Vi didn’t hesitate to take it from her hand, the sweet taste melting on her tongue. She also only realized after the fact that the woman hadn't moved her hand, the sound of her light laugh eliciting another purring rumble. Vi didn’t move either, her scent wrapping around Vi’s soul like it was made for her.

She let the woman’s hands roam over her face, running over the jewels that adorn this body along her horns, noting every scale. “You’re quite a pretty dragon, did you know that?” she’d asked. Vi clenched her jaw, her voice pounding on the confines of this cage she’s kept herself in. Vi let her rest against her side until the sun went down, let her human soak up the warmth that takes permanent residence in her body, letting her speak of anything she wished to.

The most prominent topic is that of her station. It makes Vi uneasy, but she curls herself around where the woman sits, her back flush against Vi’s leg. Resting her uninjured wing around her, it’s the most content Vi’s felt in a very long time, soothed by the scent and sound of her voice as she speaks. 

Honeycake sighs, resting her head back. “I just wish I could escape it all, sometimes. I’ve been a failure—a disappointment since… I feel like no matter what I do, it will never live up to what I’m supposed to do. To be.”

Vi lies her head along the healing grass, too tired to fight the instinct to curl even tighter around her. Especially when she looks at her like that. She only briefly wonders how she can spend so much time here when her station is clearly so taxing.

“I don’t even know if you can understand me, but…” She looks away, the prettiest shade of pink tinging her cheeks. “It feels like you’re the only one who listens.” She says it with a small scoff, her boots digging into the dirt so her knees come up to her chest.

 And gods, does Vi listen.

When her stomach growls sometime later, the woman blushes again, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. “I suppose that’s my cue,” she says as she stands. Vi thinks she’s going to leave again, the thought poking and prodding at her in ways that get harder to ignore. But instead, to her too eager surprise, she watches her come back, game slung on her shoulder, her bow dangling loosely on the other. “This is for me, I’m afraid.” She chuckles when Vi’s mouth waters. 

Watching her try to start a fire would have had Vi in a fit of laughter if she were able. Her hands, normally so practiced and precise, are clumsy as she tries to ignite the rocks over the kindle. Vi chuffs at her, earning her a glare before Vi conjures as gentle a flame as she can.

“I almost had it,” the woman mutters with what Vi is learning is a playful eyeroll. She doesn’t think her chest has room for how much her stupid, reckless heart swells.

  But it’s about a fortnight later that she feels her heart threaten to tumble out of her chest altogether. She turns her human’s name over and over in her head the moment she finally reveals it.

“I’m not sure if these mean anything to you but my name is Caitlyn,” she says simply one afternoon. She’s perched on a nearby rock, both of them finding themselves moving toward the river. Vi lifts her head, blinking owlishly at her. Caitlyn. It feels sweet in her mind. “I realized after all these years you never knew it. Do dragons have names?”

Vi, for probably the umpteenth time, wishes more than anything that she could shift back, that her body could remember. Her human is an endlessly curious one, her questions all tucked in the back of her mind for her to answer one day. But this one makes her chest hurt, the inability to speak like ash clogging her throat.

She can do nothing more than nod, watching in delighted humor as Caitlyn hums before whipping her head to where Vi sits, her eyes wide.

“Why don’t we just… reveal ourselves?”

Vander hummed, continuing to lead her and Claggor through the myriad of hallways. The sun reached through the aging stone, littering the floor in duty light.

“As much as I dream of a world where our kind and theirs can exist together, it’s just not in our cards, kiddo. Claggor, the smith is just down there.” He pointed to a new hallway, sending Claggor to be fitted for his armor for both skins. Her brother gave her a firm pat on the shoulder before bowing his head to Vander.

Her father turned back to face her, his face solemn. “Your parents were a novelty—one that almost got you and your sister killed. I know what you’re hiding,” he said, hand gripping her leather bound wrist. Vi snatched it away, crossing her arms defiantly.

“It’s not—that. I just wondered if maybe they would stop hunting us if they knew.”

“Did you—did you nod?”

Vi blinks at her, fear tightening around her throat, Vander’s voice loud in her ears. But Caitlyn just huffs to herself when Vi does nothing else, looking back at the water, her body deflating in a way that makes Vi’s chest ache. “Right. Of course not.” There’s a tingle that runs down the length of her spine, one she hasn’t felt since—

Vi isn’t sure why she does it, but she flicks her tail in the water, splashing a generous amount all over where her human sits, soaking her down to her boots. She gapes at her, eyes blinking rapidly. “Wha—?” She holds her arms out, water dripping from her clothes.

Vi looks at her, seeing the intended effect to erase whatever look passed her face seems to have failed. Vi lowers her head, regret making her scales burn when she feels water splashed against her horns. When Vi looks up, she’s met with a wicked smirk and a haughty brow. The river swallows the woman’s fit of giggles after, her wounded pride sated by the sound of it.

Later, she watches her strip down to her undergarments, drying her clothes under the warmth of the already sinking sun. She shivers, her glare half playful and murderous before Vi closes the distance, curling around her until she’s surrounded by her wing. She can only hope Caitlyn hasn’t noticed the way she’s basically healed, worried that she would stop coming if she did. But if she has noticed, Caitlyn hasn’t said, her visits still consistent and Vi willingly stays put.

And each time, Vi finds that same prickling sensation grows stronger, the fabric of herself unraveling. In the dead of night she tries to shift. She tries to conjure any power that can fucking do something as her scales and wings feel heavier and heavier. But each time, it ends with new charred marks along the forest floor, her frustration resulting in burnt wood and dug-up earth.

When Caitlyn returns, she gives their little clearing a once over, eyes full of questions Vi can’t answer.

Vi learns more of her prowess, too. That, despite her declaration to not kill dragons, she’s no less a hunter, her gaze set on a different beast entirely. The man leading their knights—Marcus—she recalls, seems to be one of the biggest thorns in her side, everything about him and his doings raising alarm bells in her. And gods, does Vi wish she could confirm her theories, already impressed she’s managed to discover what she has.

“These villages—the way they’re burned… it just all feels so staged. I’ve seen the fires your kind produce. They’re wild and powerful but what’s been written in the reports is nothing like that at all,” she muses, more notebooks all strewn out against fallen pine needles. 

“I feel like the answer is staring me in the face,” she huffs, crossing her arms. 

Vi has no doubt that if she can’t find a way to shift, Caitlyn will figure it out—that what her people have done and continue to do is beyond just hunting. It’s made her blood boil for years, to hear the whispers of a scarred man keeping dragons alive for whatever distorted purpose—

“I must leave early today, I’m afraid,” Caitlyn says suddenly, as if the answer did in fact spring from the messy scrawl. She closes the distance between them, hands outstretched towards Vi’s injured wing. “Can I check this before I go?” The question is tentative, gentle. But Vi moves away, knowing she’ll see what’s become no more than a scar. And what then? She’ll have no reason to come back at all.

Caitlyn’s face falls, her steps retreating reluctantly as she nods, still understanding. She watches her human take a breath, eyes finding where Vi stares down at her. “Will you still be here when I return? Can you feed yourself?”

Vi gives her a chuff, steam leaking from her nostrils as she lowers her head, nosing Caitlyn’s chest. She gasps, taken off guard before her hands come up to hold Vi’s face. The moment stretches out, her smell just as warm as her hands before she finally steps back. And when she walks away, making sure to have left extra fish in her wake, Vi can’t help but feel a pang of bone-deep sadness.

🐉

Vi doesn’t see a soul for days. She paces the forest floor until her tracks have made a long-lasting imprint in the earth. Torn between finally stretching her wings, taking to the skies, and staying to wait for her, she doesn’t get the chance to decide.

She feels the familiar excitement fill her body at the sense of a human nearing her. At first. But… the way a twig snaps is all wrong. The sound startles her, the scent that wafts between tall trunks is musty, bitter and almost makes her gag. Caitlyn smells nothing like herself.

Emerging from the brush isn’t her human at all. Instead, she faces the dark eyes of a man—one who holds no kindness she’s become addicted to. With a snarl, she barely hears him sneer, “So this is where Kiramman’s been running off to.”