Chapter 80 Seraphine
My stomach twisted.
“Death,” he murmured, brushing the word against my ear like a confession. “That’s the path I know. The only one that still works.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. “You want us to be death dragons.”
He shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “I want you to be dragons. Period.”
That stopped me cold.
“What?”
He sighed again, heavier this time. “Fire. Water. Storm. Shadow. Death. All of it. Dragonkind doesn’t survive by staying pure anymore. It survives by adapting.”
I clenched my fists. “You’re stealing,” I said. “You’re forcing changes that don’t belong to you.”
Thane didn’t deny it.
“Survival isn’t gentle,” he replied quietly.
The room felt too small. Too tight. Too full of consequences I never asked for.
“And what happens to the ones who don’t survive?” I asked.
His eyes darkened—but he didn’t look away.
“They were never going to,” he said.
I pulled free of him then, anger surging fresh and sharp. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “But neither does time. Or evolution.”
I shook my head, backing away again. “You’re wrong. There has to be another way.”
He watched me carefully. “You think the Fire King would save dragonkind?” he asked softly. “By loving you?”
The words cut deeper than I wanted them to.
“I think Dante would never do this,” I shot back. “He’d find another way.”
Thane smiled sadly. “Love doesn’t stop extinction.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and raw.
Then he reached out—not to grab me, not to restrain—but to rest his hand briefly over my heart.
“You’re already changing,” he said. “Whether you want to or not. The black fire wasn’t death alone. It was choice.”
My pulse thundered under his palm.
“You can fight it,” he continued. “You can run back to fire and passion and pretend this never happened. But the pull will come again. Stronger next time.”
I swallowed, my voice barely a whisper. “And if I don’t want to become you?”
His eyes met mine, steady and unflinching.
“Then become something that survives,” he said. “Because dragonkind doesn’t have the luxury of purity anymore.”
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “So this is it, then?” I asked. “You’re doing all of this just to make dragons… change?”
“Yes,” Thane said simply.
No hesitation. No justification layered on top.
Just truth.
“I’ve tried other ways,” he continued. “For centuries. Rituals. Bloodlines. Pairings. Forced awakenings. Kael’s been doing his own research as well—different angle, same goal.”
That made something cold twist in my gut.
I took another step back from him. “Kael,” I said slowly. “He knew about this?”
Thane’s jaw tightened. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “He did. From the beginning.”
My stomach dropped.
“You’re telling me this was planned,” I said. “All of it.”
“Discovered,” Thane corrected. “Not planned. We didn’t go looking for this problem. It found us.”
I shook my head, struggling to keep my footing—physically and mentally. “And Valin?”
At the mention of the Death King’s name, Thane’s expression darkened.
“That,” he muttered, “is where everything went wrong.”
He turned away from me for the first time, pacing a few steps like the weight of it physically pressed on his spine. “When we realized what was happening—what dragonkind was losing—we went to him. Thought he’d understand.”
“And?” I pressed.
“He shut us out,” Thane said bluntly. “Locked himself away. Refused to listen. Refused to acknowledge it exists.” His mouth twisted. “Death, of all things, and he wouldn’t face it.”
I frowned. “So he just… ignored you?”
“He denies anything we bring him,” Thane said. “Any data. Any proof. He acts like if he doesn’t look at it, it won’t be real.”
That explained more than I wanted it to.
“You didn’t stop there,” I said quietly.
“No,” he agreed. “We kept trying.”
He turned back to me then, eyes sharp again. “We tried medicine. Injections. Serums designed to stimulate dormant dragons. We tried pairing dragonborns together, even when instinct said no.”
My skin crawled.
“And?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “At best, nothing happened. At worst—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “They burned out faster.”
My chest tightened. “So you moved to this.”
“Yes.”
“To drowning,” I said, my voice bitter.
“To death,” Thane corrected. “Exposure. Proximity. Crossing the threshold without fully passing through.”
I stared at him, horrified. “You’re saying—”
“That death itself,” he finished calmly, “is the catalyst.”
The words settled like lead in my stomach.
“It raises the odds,” he continued. “From one in fifty… to seven.”
Seven.
Seven women out of fifty who survive the change.
“And the others?” I whispered.
Thane didn’t look away this time.
“They don’t,” he said.
Silence crashed down between us.
“You’re playing god,” I said hoarsely.
“No,” he replied. “I’m playing surgeon on a dying species.”
I shook my head, tears burning behind my eyes. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”
“And neither does entropy,” he said quietly. “But it already has.”
I laughed once—broken, sharp. “So you chain us. You drown us. You terrorize us. And you call it mercy.”
“I call it necessity,” Thane said. “And I hate every second of it.”
That surprised me.
“You hate this?” I demanded.
“Yes,” he snapped suddenly, a crack in his calm. “Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I wanted to become the monster in this story?”
He took a breath, visibly forcing himself back under control.
“But hatred doesn’t stop extinction,” he said more quietly. “And love doesn’t either.”
My thoughts flashed to Dante—fire, promises, the way he looked at me like I was something rare and dangerous and wanted.
“You’re wrong,” I said fiercely. “There has to be another way.”
Thane studied me for a long moment.
“If there is,” he said, “you might be it.”
I swallowed, my heart still hammering, and forced myself to ask the question that had been burning since the moment I’d seen her.
“Is it normal,” I said slowly, “to… talk to your dragon?”
For the first time since this nightmare began, Thane looked genuinely startled.
His composure cracked—not violently, but enough to matter.
“…You spoke to yours?” he asked.
I nodded. “She spoke to me,” I corrected quietly. “She said she was me. Or that I was her. Something like that.”
The room went very still.
Thane’s eyes searched my face, not like a predator now, but like a scholar staring at a missing equation.
“That’s not common,” he said carefully. “Most dragonborn feel instinct. Urges. Pressure. Heat. Not… dialogue.”
“So it’s possible,” I pressed.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But rare. Usually happens during extreme stress. Near-death states. Transitional phases.”
That tracked.
I exhaled shakily and glanced toward the human—the one who’d dragged us, strapped us down, treated us like inventory instead of people.
“The cloth,” I said suddenly. “In the van.”
The human stiffened, clearly not thrilled to be addressed, but Thane flicked a glance his way that said answer her.
“It was a low dose of chloroform,” the man said quickly. “Medical-grade. Controlled. Enough to knock you out, not enough to cause damage.”
“Nothing harmful,” Thane added, watching me closely. “You weren’t in danger.”
I laughed under my breath.
“That’s funny,” I muttered. “Because I’ve never been in more danger in my life.”
Then I looked back at Thane.
Really looked at him.
“You said proximity to death changes things,” I said. “That crossing the threshold without fully passing through is what triggers evolution.”
“Yes,” he replied cautiously.
“And you said drowning raises the odds.”
“It does.”
I took a slow breath, steadying myself.
“Then I need you to do it again.”