Chapter 121 Doing Things and Showing Off
Bella
The walk back to camp feels quieter. Not because there’s less noise, if anything, there’s more of it now, but because the tension that was sitting under every step has finally loosened its grip. The mountain is behind us, the Sanctum sealed and silent in a way that feels finished rather than threatening, and the path ahead opens into wide stretches of snow and exposed ground that fear has not yet walked flat. The kids don’t wait long to enjoy their newfound freedom and open air. They break away from the adults without asking, boots slipping and skidding through the snow as they run ahead, laughing loudly, shouting to one another, daring each other to go faster. One of them throws himself into a drift and comes up grinning, hair full of snow, cheeks flushed bright with cold and excitement. Another spins in a clumsy circle until she topples over, laughing so hard she can barely breathe. Power sparks from their excitement in small bursts of frost and snow that puff outward with their movements. A flurry lifts around one boy’s hands when he laughs too hard, and he freezes instantly, shoulders jerking up as he waits for someone to correct him. They all do.
It’s instinctive and immediate. Their bodies know the rule even if their minds are still catching up. Before I can step in, Damien does. He moves forward calmly and exhales, a massive gust. Heat rolls outward from him, cutting through the cold without overwhelming it. The kids shiver when it reaches them, startled at first, then visibly relieved as the warmth sinks in. The snow settles, nothing breaks, nobody shouts, and nobody drags anyone away.
Damien smiles at them.
“Keep going,” he says easily. “You’re fine.”
They stare at him for half a second, stunned more by the permission than the warmth, and then the moment snaps. Laughter breaks out again, louder this time, and they take off running, racing each other toward the trees, power flaring and fading as they move, never getting the chance to build into anything dangerous because the balance is already there. I stop walking. I don’t mean to. My feet just don’t move for a moment as I watch them. This is what it looked like when I first stepped outside the tower. All of the space, and the sound, and a world full of possibilities finally within reach. The difference is that I had to figure it out on my own. These kids won’t. There are people everywhere now—adults watching without fear, soldiers ready to step in if something spikes, dragons close enough to counter anything that slips. They’re supported. That matters more than anything. Damien lets the kids swarm him without hesitation. One tugs on his cloak and the other runs around him so fast that he kicks snow up everywhere.
A girl with frost threaded through her braids stares up at him and asks, “Are you really fire?”
He crouches immediately, bringing himself down to their level.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Mostly I’m just warm.”
That earns him a chorus of interested sounds from the kids. They crowd closer, hands brushing his shoulders and arms, curiosity winning out over caution. He ruffles a boy’s hair when he runs past again and steadies another before she slips. When one nearly barrels into him, he laughs and catches her easily, setting her back on her feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sound of his laughter surprises me. It’s not restrained or careful. It’s open and easy and I can't help but think that maybe he needed this as much as they did. I walk up beside him and watch for another second before speaking.
“You’re good with kids,” I say.
He glances up at me, clearly surprised by the observation, then smiles faintly.
“Apparently,” he replies. “They might be the first people who aren’t scared of me.”
I snort. “They probably think the same of you.”
He watches them race ahead again, snow flying everywhere, voices echoing across the clearing.
“Maybe,” he says. “But I wouldn't be king if I was scared of a little ice, now would I?” He jokes.
The camp comes into view through the trees —low fires burning, soldiers moving in with easy familiarity, shapes shifting where Ashlyn and Paul should be. I spot Ashlyn first, arms crossed, posture sharp even from a distance. Paul’s dragon is coiled nearby, enormous and watchful. Gilfred is somewhere high up where he absolutely shouldn’t be. I'll definitely be talking to him about that later. Ashlyn looks up when she hears the noise, and her expression changes instantly.
“Oh,” she says. “You did a thing.”
I smile. The first kids reach the edge of camp and skid to a stop, shouting questions at anyone who looks even remotely in charge. Ashlyn stares at them, then laughs, sharp and incredulous.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You actually did it.”
“We all did,” I reply.
She glances at Paul’s dragon, then back at the kids, then at me. “This is going to be a lot.”
“Yeah.”
She smirks. “Good for you.”
A shadow passes over the camp, and the children's laughter stutters, then spikes as they gawk upward.
“What’s that?” One of them yells.
A low, rolling sound follows, and a massive shape drops out of the sky in a slow, controlled descent. Wings beat once, twice, snow lifting in a soft rush as Drake lands at the edge of the clearing, scales catching the light like polished stone. The reaction is immediate.
“Ooooh—”
“Is that a dragon?”
“It’s so big.”
“I want to touch it.”
Ashlyn freezes mid-step, mouth open. “She's such a show off.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Red swings down from Drake’s back like gravity is optional, boots hitting the ground with easy confidence. She straightens and grins when she spots me.
“Well,” she says, surveying the chaos of children, soldiers, and very confused adults. “Looks like you didn’t need me to burn the place down after all.”
I walk toward her, shaking my head. “Where have you two been?”
Red winks. “Air support.”
Drake lowers his head slightly as a few brave kids inch closer, eyes wide, hands hovering like they’re afraid he might vanish if they touch him.
“Just in case,” Red adds lightly, “you needed the whole mountain melted into a cautionary tale.”
I snort. “Good to know that was an option.”
“Always is,” she says cheerfully.
One kid finally presses a mitten'd hand to Drake’s snout. He rumbles, pleased, and the camp fills with laughter again. I feel it settle into my bones. Yeah. This works. I look back at Damien, still crouched in the snow, surrounded by children who have decided he is both interesting and safe, and something in my chest finally settles. They’re going to be okay, because they aren’t alone anymore, and for once, neither am I.