Chapter 176 Fly
Epilogue
Four years later
Bella
The lounge room is warm today, and rugs sit slightly crooked where small feet have kicked them out of place. A basket of wooden blocks has spilled across the floor. The curtains have tiny handprints near the hem, smudged and unapologetic. The air smells like ink, stew from earlier, and the faint sweet bite of dragon heat that never fully leaves. My typewriter sits in the corner by the window, wedged between a bookshelf and a chair. A stack of paper leans against the leg, curled at the edges. I’m halfway through a sentence when the clicking stops being the loudest sound in the room. Jackson waddles across the floor on bare feet, shirtless, hair sticking up where he ran his hands through it. His little white wings are out today. This usually happens when he has been shifting in and out of dragon form all morning, like it’s a game. The wings twitch behind his shoulders as he walks, fluttering in short bursts that lift nothing but his ego. He pauses near the window and stares up at it with the intense focus of someone deciding to commit a crime. “Jackson,” I say without looking fully up yet. He does that thing where he freezes like I can’t see him if he holds still. His wings go rigid, his chin lifts, and his eyes get very innocent. I turn fully to see he’s standing a foot from the glass with both hands held slightly out to his sides like he’s about to present a performance. “What are you thinking?” I ask.
He smiles at me, small, bright, and dangerous all at once. “Fly,” he says.
“Inside?”
“Just little.”
“Jackson.” He bounces on his toes, then he turns back to the window and inhales deeply with his whole chest. “Jackson,” I say again, sharper now. He exhales, and a burst of frost shoots from his mouth and hits the window in a thick sheet, crawling outward in fast, branching patterns. The glass fogs instantly. White spreads across it in a blink. The room drops a few degrees. Damien is off the couch before I even stand. “Alright,” he says, already reaching. His palm presses to the iced glass, and heat flows from his hand, warming the frost before it can bite into the window too hard. The ice softens and pulls back, the patterns melting into clear rivulets that slide down and vanish into the sill. Jackson giggles like this is the funniest thing that has ever happened. He launches himself at Damien’s legs and climbs like a very determined mountain goat, wings fluttering wildly, fingers gripping Damien’s shirt. Damien scoops him up without effort, laughing under his breath as Jackson wraps his arms around his neck. “You’re getting quick,” Damien tells him. Jackson grins, cheeks flushed. “I did it.”
“You did,” Damien agrees. “And you almost broke my window.”
“My window,” Jackson corrects, smug. Damien’s eyes flick to me for half a second, the corner of his mouth lifting like he knows exactly what he’s doing by indulging him. I point at both of them from my chair. “No flying inside.” Jackson leans around Damien’s shoulder and gives me a look of pure betrayal, like I’ve ruined his entire childhood. Damien dips his head closer to Jackson, voice dropping. “We should probably go outside, buddy.”
Jackson’s eyes widen. He nods so hard his wings flutter again. “Yes. Outside. Fly.”
Damien shifts Jackson’s weight on his hip, one arm firm around his back. Jackson pats Damien’s jaw, then he leans in and whispers something I can’t hear. Damien replies quietly, and Jackson laughs again. I rest a hand on my stomach, fingers spreading over the curve that has been growing steadily for months now, round and undeniable under my dress. The healers have already told us it’s a girl. Damien pretended to be calm about it for exactly three seconds. Jackson doesn’t fully understand what it means, but he knows there is a baby. He knows there is someone coming. He pats my belly sometimes like he’s checking on her. He says hello and offers her snacks. He also tells everyone he meets, loudly, that his sister is coming and he will “protect her with ice.” Damien loves that.
They move toward the door, Damien still carrying Jackson. “Go. Before he freezes the furniture again.” Damien’s mouth curves. “He would never.” Jackson gasps dramatically, then immediately tries to twist in Damien’s arms so he can look at the window again, as if considering one last shot of ice before leaving. Damien tightens his hold. “Outside.” Jackson giggles and buries his face in Damien’s shoulder. I manage three lines before the sound of Jackson’s laughter reaches me through the glass. I stand and cross to the window. Outside, the backyard stretches toward the tree line, grass worn down in patches where Jackson has been practising his stomping dragon feet. A small ring of stones marks a training area Damien built for him. Damien stands in the centre, shirt sleeves rolled, hair pulled back. Jackson is in front of him, shifting in little jolts, wings flickering in and out, tail appearing and disappearing like his body can’t decide which form it wants today. Damien crouches to Jackson’s level and holds his shoulders gently. “Breathe first,” Damien says. Jackson inhales with such concentration that his cheeks puff out. “Good,” Damien murmurs. “Now feel it. Not in your mouth. In your chest. Hold it there.” Jackson’s eyes go wide, serious now. He nods as if he understands exactly what that means, which is a lie, but he’s trying. Damien’s hand moves to Jackson’s back, palm hovering over the little wings. “Wings out,” Damien says. “Both. Slow.” Jackson squeezes his eyes shut and shifts. The wings push out properly this time, white and soft-edged, catching sunlight, trembling with effort. His shoulders rise with the strain.
Our son, Damien's dragon say through my mind. Ours. Jackson opens his eyes and grins at his wings like he’s just made them appear through pure will.
“I did it,” he announces.
“You did,” Damien agrees. “Now the hard part.”
Jackson tilts his head. “Fly?”
Damien smiles. “Not yet. First, balance.” Jackson’s face falls into a pout. Damien taps his nose once. “If you launch without balance, you fall, and if you fall, your mother will murder me.” Jackson looks toward the window like he’s checking if I heard that. I lift my hand, waving sweetly and Jackson’s eyes go round. Damien’s mouth curves again, then he leans closer to Jackson, voice low. “Tiny jump. Just enough for your feet to leave the ground. Then land. Control. Again.” Jackson nods solemnly like he is entering battle. He bends his knees and jumps. For a moment, he actually lifts. Wings fluttering, little body rising an inch, maybe two, before his feet hit the ground again with a thump. Jackson stares at himself like he can’t believe he did it. Then he laughs, loud and bright, and jumps again. I press my palm to the glass and watch as the backyard fills with Jackson’s laughter and the sound of wings beating the air.