Chapter 90 Seraphine
Every instinct I had screamed that this was insane.
Every other instinct—the one that had kept people alive tonight—told me to listen.
I stepped closer to the nearest woman.
She looked terrified.
“So am I,” I murmured.
Slowly, carefully, I reached out and placed my fingers at the base of her throat, just over her chest—exactly where my dragon had indicated.
The moment I touched her—
Warmth bloomed.
Not fire.
Not death.
Something steady.
The woman gasped—not in pain, but in surprise—as a soft glow spread under my hand, pulsing once like a heartbeat finding its rhythm.
The room sucked in a collective breath.
I pulled my hand back, staring.
The woman blinked rapidly, then whispered, “It’s… quieter. Inside.”
My dragon’s voice curled through me, satisfied.
That, she said, is how you help without breaking them.
What are we doing? I asked silently, fear and awe tangling together in my chest.
My dragon didn’t answer right away.
She wrapped the moment in sensation instead.
The warmth under my skin deepened—not spreading outward like fire, not hollowing like death—but sinking down. Anchoring. I felt threads unfurl from me, thin and luminous, brushing against something dormant inside the woman I’d touched.
We’re knocking, my dragon said finally. Not breaking doors down.
I swallowed, watching the woman steady herself, her breathing evening out like she’d just surfaced from deep water.
“You’re… waking them?” I whispered.
Yes, my dragon replied. Calling their dragons to awareness. Not forcing a shift. Not pushing power where it isn’t ready to go.
The room felt different now.
Charged—but not volatile.
Like a storm paused at the edge of release.
I glanced around. The other women were staring at me with wide eyes—hope flaring dangerously bright in some of them, fear still clinging to others.
My heart twisted.
It takes a lot out of us, my dragon warned gently. Every touch costs. You’re not giving power—you’re lending stability. Think of it like… holding a ladder steady while someone climbs out of the dark.
My knees felt a little weak.
“How many?” I asked her. “How many can we help?”
She didn’t sugarcoat it.
Not all of them. Not tonight.
That landed hard.
You and I are still becoming one, she continued. We don’t have the reserves yet. If you push too far, you won’t burn—you’ll fracture.
I exhaled shakily. “So I have to pace myself.”
Exactly, she said. Strong doesn’t mean endless.
Dante had moved closer without me noticing. He didn’t touch me—just stood there, grounding presence at my side.
“What’s happening?” he asked quietly, like he was afraid to spook something fragile.
I met his eyes. “I’m not changing them,” I said. “I’m… waking them up. Just enough so their dragons can breathe.”
Lucian stared at the first woman, disbelief written all over his face. “That shouldn’t be possible without triggering a partial shift.”
“It’s not a shift,” I said, sharper than I meant to. Then I softened. “It’s an invitation.”
Thane was watching me like he was seeing a constellation he’d spent centuries trying to map—pieces finally aligning in a way that made sense and terrified him all at once.
“You’re stabilizing the threshold,” he murmured. “You’re keeping them human and dragon.”
“I’m keeping them alive,” I snapped back.
I turned to the woman again. “How do you feel?” I asked.
She swallowed, eyes glassy. “Tired,” she admitted. “But… not empty anymore.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Hope—careful this time. Cautious.
Good.
Choose wisely, my dragon reminded me. Some are too weak right now. Some need rest before they can even hear us.
I nodded once, understanding settling in my bones.
This wasn’t a miracle.
It was triage.
Dante stepped forward just as I shifted my weight, his hand coming up—not to grab me, but to stop me with his presence alone.
“Seraphine,” he said carefully, eyes searching my face. “Who are you talking to?”
The room went very still.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then it hit me—harder than any flame ever had.
No one else could hear her.
My stomach dropped.
I swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “I—” I glanced inward instinctively, and my dragon’s presence curled closer, unmistakably there. “My dragon.”
Dante frowned. “Your… dragon.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, then asked slowly, “Are you two… speaking? Like. Right now?”
I nodded.
Behind my ribs, my dragon snorted.
He’s really not the sharpest tool in the shed, she remarked dryly. But he’ll do.
The laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it—a small, startled giggle that echoed far too loudly in the quiet room.
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say.”
I bit my lip.
“Seraphine,” he warned gently.
I sighed. “She said you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
Lucian choked on air and promptly lost his balance, dropping onto the couch with a wheeze of laughter.
Amara slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god.”
Thane didn’t even try to hide it—he was grinning like he’d just won a very long game.
Dante closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “Fantastic.”
I reached up without thinking and touched his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “For what it’s worth,” I said softly, “I like you exactly the way you are.”
He groaned. “That somehow makes it worse.”
Then he straightened, business snapping back into place as he looked toward the women. “Okay. Focus. What is she saying about them?”
I drew in a breath, steadying myself, and spoke louder so everyone could hear.
“She says we’re not changing them,” I explained. “Not forcing anything. We’re waking their dragons just enough for them to breathe. To recognize themselves.”
Lucian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Without triggering a shift?”
“Yes,” I said. “Because we’re not pushing power. We’re stabilizing it.”
Amara raised her hand slightly. “Like… giving them a life jacket instead of shoving them into the ocean?”
My dragon hummed approvingly.
I like the water one, she said. She thinks in metaphors. That’s useful.
I smiled despite myself. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
One of the women—braver now, steadier—asked quietly, “Will it hurt?”
I shook my head. “No pain. Just… tired. Like after you run too far and realize you’re still alive.”
Another voice followed. “What if nothing happens?”
“Then nothing breaks,” I said firmly. “And that matters.”
Lucian rubbed his chin. “How many can you do?”
I didn’t hesitate this time. “Not all of them. Not tonight.”
A flicker of disappointment passed through the room—but it didn’t turn to despair.
Good.
“She says we’re still becoming one,” I continued, tapping my chest lightly. “If I push too far, I fracture. And that helps no one.”