Chapter 45 Elena Heart- POV
"Find me," he called, and his voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing through the collapsing dream. "Remember, Elena. Remember—"
Then silence. Darkness. The heavy, inescapable weight of my own body, lying still and alone in sheets that smelled only of my own loneliness.
I woke to gray morning light filtering through unfamiliar windows, my hand still reaching toward empty space, my lips still shaped around a name I wasn't certain I'd actually spoken aloud.
Was this just a dream? Am I even awake? Was this reality?
The dream had felt real. Too real. And as I lay there, heart hammering against my ribs, I couldn't shake the certainty that somewhere, across distances I couldn't measure, through barriers I couldn't understand—Xavier had been there with me.
Truly there. Not memory, not longing, but something else. Something that tasted like hope and danger in equal measure.
I pressed my palm flat against my chest, feeling the wild rhythm of my heart, and whispered into the empty room: "I will find you. Whatever it takes. I will find my way back to you."
The words hung in the morning air, fragile as spider silk, strong as steel. And somewhere—in waking or dream, in truth or desperate hope, I thought I heard an answer.
In the dream, I gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin as if I could pull him out of the vision and back into reality. I wanted to stay in the warmth. I wanted to forget the hut, the rain, and the blood on Grace’s hands.
But as he kissed the hollow of my throat, his touch began to feel like the violet pulse of the Core Stone. The dream started to shimmer at the edges.
"Xavier," I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut in the vision. "Come back to me. Truly back."
He pulled away just enough to look me in the eye, a sad, knowing smile on his lips. "I am trying, my Heart. But until I do... you must be the Dragon."
The amber light of the chamber flared into a blinding white, and the warmth of his skin was replaced by the damp, biting chill of the hut.
I woke with a start, my cheeks wet with tears. This time, I really woke up.
The tiny obsidian lizard on my chest was gone. I panicked for a split second until I felt a weight on my shoulder. Xavier was sitting there, his amber eyes wide and luminous in the dark, watching my face. He leaned forward and pressed his small, scaly head against my wet cheek, a silent echo of the kiss from the dream.
He had been there. In my head. In the space between our souls.
Beside me, James—the neon gecko—was pacing the edge of the straw, his tail flickering with a sharp, impatient light. He looked at me, then at the door, then back at me.
The dream hadn't just been a comfort; it was a tether. The King was still in there, fighting his way back through the dark, and he was counting on me to hold the line.
I sat up, the sadness still heavy but the resolve sharper now. I didn't have my family. I didn't have my dagger. But as I looked at the tiny, powerful creatures in the room with me, I realized I had something the Council never would.
I had the truth. And the truth was going to burn them alive.
The morning light filtered through the cracks in the stone hut like thin, jagged needles, illuminating the dust motes and the gray, damp reality of my situation. My stomach let out a low, hollow growl that felt like it was echoing off the walls.
I looked down at the ruin of my nightdress—it was little more than a memory of silk, stained with ash and mud. If I were to survive the day, let alone reclaim a kingdom, I couldn't do it as a starving ghost.
Xavier was still perched on my shoulder, his small tail curled protectively around the base of my neck. He seemed more alert today, his amber eyes tracking every movement of the shadows outside. James, meanwhile, was doing laps around the rim of an old stone basin in the corner, his neon-yellow feet making a faint click-clack sound that grated on my raw nerves.
A heavy, rhythmic thud shook the ground. Thud. Thud.
Then, a knock. It wasn't a human knock. It was the sound of a massive, blunt object striking the rotted wood of the door—heavy enough to make the hinges groan.
I froze, my hand instinctively going to the place where my dagger should have been. I felt the violet pulse under my skin flare, a sudden heat that made my fingertips tingle.
"Stay back," I whispered to the lizards.
I pulled the rusted bolt and cracked the door just an inch.
Standing there was a behemoth. It was the orc-like creature from the forest, its skin the color of bruised plums and covered in thick, bristly hair. It stood nearly eight feet tall, its tusks yellowed and scarred.
In its massive, four-fingered hand, it held a large, raw haunch of meat—something deep red and marbled with silver fat, wrapped in broad, waxy leaves.
I should have shrieked. I should have slammed the door. But as the creature opened its mouth, a series of guttural grunts and clicks emerged, and to my absolute horror, my brain translated them as clearly as if he were speaking the King's tongue.
"Eat. The Heart must be fed so the Flame can grow. Cook it. The wood is dry behind the stone."
I blinked, my mouth hanging open. "You... I can understand you?"
The orc tilted its massive head, its dark eyes surprisingly soft. "We are of the Shadow, Lady. You carry the Blood. The Blood speaks all tongues of the dark."
He set the meat down on the threshold with a delicacy that didn't match his size, then took a step back and knelt, his massive head bowing until his tusks nearly touched the mud.
Beyond him, the forest was a surreal gallery of nightmares. The wolf-kin were draped over fallen logs like lazy hounds; the three-eyed skitterers were busy clearing a perimeter of sharp stones and debris. They weren't just guarding me. They were tending to me.
I picked up the meat—it was heavy and cold, smelling of iron and wild herbs. "Thank you," I whispered.
The orc grunted once, a sound of grim approval, and disappeared back into the gray mist of the trees.
I turned back into the hut, the weight of the gift in my hands. "Well, Xavier," I muttered, looking at the tiny King on my shoulder. "Apparently, I'm the Queen of the Monsters now. I hope you like your meat rare."
I found the dry wood the orc had mentioned—neatly stacked behind the exterior stone chimney—and managed to start a small, controlled fire in the hearth. As the meat began to sizzle, filling the small space with a rich, savory aroma that made my mouth water, I realized I was still nearly naked.