Grey
The world swam back into focus through a haze of throbbing pain and profound exhaustion.
Consciousness returned bit by bit like a slow tide washing over parched sand.
My first sensation was the familiar, comforting weight settled firmly on my chest. Small, warm, radiating a familiar, soothing energy.
I could recognize her amidst everything—Sylvie.
Relief, pure and potent, flooded me before I'd even fully processed thought. She was alive.
She was here. The terror of seeing her flung aside during that cataclysmic clash with Dragoth receded slightly, replaced by the grounding reality of her presence.
I could feel the soft texture of her miniature fox-form fur beneath my chin, hear the faint, contented hum vibrating through her tiny frame. She was safe. That single fact anchored me in the returning awareness of my own battered body.
But where was I?
"Corvis, how long is it going to take for Grey to wake up?" Tessia's voice, laced with a tension that bordered on frayed nerves, pierced the fog. It sounded close, anxious.
Tessia? My mind, sluggish but clawing its way back, tried to piece together the fragments.
Again I asked myself: where was I? The last searing images were of Dragoth's devastating power, the earth shattering beneath us, what happened after?
"He is more than fine, Tessia," came Corvis's familiar, calming voice, a steady counterpoint to his sister's worry. My best friend. The sound of him, unharmed, was another balm. But he had stayed in the Castle so it was obvious he would be fine.
"We just need to be patient..." His voice held reassurance, but beneath it, I detected the faintest edge of his own concern, carefully controlled.
"He is waking up!" Sylvie's voice, bright and triumphant, echoed, followed by a happy chirp. The weight on my chest shifted as she presumably lifted her head. Confirmation. She was alert, unharmed. The knot of fear loosened another fraction.
My eyelids felt like lead slabs, crusted with grit and exhaustion. I forced them open, blinking against the intrusive light. The world was a blur of soft colours and indistinct shapes. Gradually, like a lens grinding into focus, the scene resolved.
Sylvie's luminous golden eyes peered down at me from her perch on my chest, radiating pure, unadulterated joy.
I managed a weak twitch of lips that might have been an attempted smile, my gaze instinctively searching beyond her.
Tessia and Corvis materialized from the blur, standing beside the bed I now realized I occupied. My vision, still swimming slightly, played tricks.
For a disorienting moment, their silhouettes seemed to merge, their features echoing each other with uncanny precision. Corvis, usually tying back his gunmetal hair in a practical tail for combat or training, wore it loose and free, cascading past his shoulders in a manner strikingly reminiscent of Tessia's own silver cascade.
He was dressed not in his steel grey uniform, but in fine, bright fabric—princely attire. The similarity, amplified by my compromised sight and the shared intensity of their expressions focused solely on me, was startling.
They were twins, I sometimes forgot it, the realization struck with fresh clarity. Their bond, usually perceived as deep affection, now seemed etched into their very physiques, a mirror reflecting shared lineage and unspoken understanding.
"Grey!" Tessia's voice broke, thick with emotion, the moment our eyes met. Warmth engulfed my right hand as her fingers, trembling slightly, clutched it with surprising strength.
Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with residual fear now mingling with profound relief. Lines of worry etched her usually smooth brow.
"How are you feeling?" Her gaze scanned my face, searching for any sign of distress, her concern a palpable force in the room.
"A bit... dizzy," I managed, my voice a dry rasp, scraping against my throat. The admission felt inadequate for the bone-deep weariness and the phantom aches echoing the devastating impacts I'd absorbed.
"That's all." I focused on Tessia, trying to project reassurance through the haze. I offered what I hoped was a convincing smile, though it likely felt weak on my lips. My attention shifted to Corvis, the strategist in me demanding answers.
"Corvis... what happened?" I asked as Tessia's worried eyes remained locked on me, her grip on my hand tightening almost imperceptibly.
Corvis stepped closer, his own gaze analytical but softened by evident relief. "Varay found you and Sylvie," he explained, his voice measured. "You were both down, injured, amidst... quite a bit of destruction."
A ghost of a grimace touched his lips, hinting at the scene Varay must have encountered. "Fortunately," he continued, emphasizing the word, "you came out with minor scars. Bruised, drained, but structurally intact. Your mana reserves are remarkably resilient."
He paused, his eyes meeting mine, anticipating the question clawing its way to the forefront of my mind before I could voice it. "There were no traces of Dragoth. None. He vanished."
A dissatisfied grunt escaped me, a low vibration in my chest that made Sylvie shift. Gone. The word echoed. Relief warred with frustration. Relief that the immediate threat was absent, that he hadn't captured Corvis or finished me off. But frustration, sharp and stinging. His disappearance meant only one thing: I hadn't been strong enough.
I'd survived, I'd matched him blow for terrifying blow, forcing him to expend immense power, but I hadn't defeated him.
He'd retreated because he chose to, likely because the cost of continuing outweighed the potential gain, or his injuries demanded it. Not because I had broken him. The chasm between matching a Scythe and defeating one felt suddenly vast and daunting. I was powerful, yes, but not enough. Not yet.
"Now," Corvis said, his tone shifting abruptly. The analytical commander was replaced by the protective older brother. He crossed his arms, his gaze sweeping between Tessia and me. A faint, knowing smirk played on his lips.
"When did you two plan on enlightening me about this... evolution of your relationship?" The pause before "evolution" was loaded with implication.
Tessia froze beside me. I felt the minute jolt that ran through her hand still clasping mine. Her head whipped towards Corvis, her cheeks instantly blooming a deep, furious crimson that clashed vividly with her silver hair.
"Ehm—I... what..." she stammered, her eyes wide with a deer-in-the-lanterns look. Words seemed to fail her utterly, dissolving into incoherent syllables. The sheer, unadulterated embarrassment radiating from her was almost comical.
Telling her brother, her twin, about us—about the tentative, fragile, yet overwhelming thing that had sparked between us—clearly felt like an ordeal of monumental proportions. The word "relationship" itself still felt foreign, thrilling, and slightly terrifying in my own mind.
Truth be told, a matching heat flooded my own face. I could feel the warmth spreading up my neck, a ridiculous reaction for someone who had faced down a Scythe hours before.
I'm fifteen in this life, I reminded myself, though the hormonal rush felt incongruous with the decades of experience buried deep within King Grey's memories. Yet, here it was, undeniable.
"I will speak for these two." Sylvie declared loftily, hopping from my chest with surprising grace and landing squarely on top of Corvis's head.
She immediately nestled into his loose gunmetal hair, a favoured perch, especially when he instinctively reached up to scratch behind her ears in that specific way that always made her chirp with pure, uncomplicated joy—a sound echoing the simpler times before she could speak aloud, when our bond was purely mental.
Corvis paused his scratching, raising an eyebrow, his gaze still fixed on his flustered sister.
"Yes?" he prompted Sylvie, the amusement in his voice barely contained.
Sylvie puffed out her tiny chest. "Yes. They have declared their love for each other," she announced with the gravitas of a royal herald. Tessia made a strangled noise. "Or at least Tessia did, very bravely,"
Sylvie continued, oblivious or perhaps delighting in Tessia's squirming, "and Grey let it be implied quite strongly! But," she added with devastating innocence, "I read it directly from his thoughts! He definitely loves Tessia too!"
Silence. Thick, profound, and utterly mortifying. Tessia looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Corvis slowly turned his head, the movement displacing Sylvie slightly, to face his sister fully.
His expression was a masterpiece of brotherly smugness mixed with genuine, if teasing, curiosity.
"And when," he asked, his voice deceptively mild and full of mischief, "were you thinking of formally announcing this development to Mom, Dad, and Grampa?" He paused, letting the weight of parental expectation hang in the air.
"Even though," he added nonchalantly, "Grampa already knows."
Tessia's head snapped up, her embarrassment momentarily obliterated by sheer, outraged shock.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN GRAMPA ALREADY KNOWS?!" Her voice erupted, a sonic boom in the confined space of the infirmary room. It made my already sensitive ears ring painfully. She surged forward, abandoning my hand to glare at her brother.
Corvis held up his hands in mock surrender, the smirk widening into a full grin. "Let's just say... we've been keeping a benevolent, purely protective eye on you two," he admitted, the teasing glint undeniable. "Grampa has his ways. And his sources... well that's obvious."
Tessia let out a sound of pure indignation. "You spied on us?!" Playful fury ignited in her eyes. She launched herself at Corvis, her fists drumming against his chest and shoulders with harmless, exasperated thuds. "You absolute jerk! Both of you!"
"Grey!" she whined, turning her flushed, furious face back towards me, her eyes pleading for backup, for rescue from this brotherly interrogation. "Tell him something!"
My mind blanked. Words? Coherent sentences? In the face of this domestic ambush, they fled.
My own blush deepened. I felt utterly exposed, caught between Tessia's mortified appeal and Corvis's amused scrutiny.
"Cor—" I began, my voice still rough, intending some feeble defense or distraction, but the attempt was instantly obliterated.
With a crash that made us all jump, the infirmary door burst open, slamming against the wall. Revealed in the doorway was a scene of pure, chaotic farce: Elder Virion Eralith, Commander of all Dicathen's forces and Tessia and Corvis's formidable grandfather, stood frozen mid-tiptoe, his hand still raised as if caught trying to silently turn the knob.
Directly behind him, sprawled gracelessly on the floor, was King Alduin Eralith, Tessia and Corvis's father, clearly having been leaning heavily on the door that suddenly vanished. And behind them both, one hand covering her eyes in a gesture of profound mortification, stood Queen Merial Eralith, her elegant composure shattered by the undignified spectacle her husband and father-in-law had created.
"Dad! Grampa!" Tessia shrieked, her voice cracking with a mixture of disbelief, outrage, and sheer embarrassment. She whirled away from Corvis, her fists now clenched at her sides, radiating indignation.
King Alduin groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his regal robes askew. He pointed an accusing finger upwards at Virion.
"This was all Father's idea!" he declared, his voice slightly muffled by the floor. "He insisted we needed to... assess the patient's condition... discreetly."
Virion, recovering his composure with impressive speed, straightened his tunic and stroked his beard, avoiding Alduin's accusing finger and Tessia's laser glare. He cleared his throat.
"I haven't the faintest notion of what Alduin is babbling about, Little One,"
he protested, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.
He attempted a grandfatherly smile, but Tessia's glare remained icy, utterly unconvinced. He sighed, the facade dropping slightly. "Fine. Perhaps... perhaps I merely wished to check on my precious granddaughter."
His sharp, old eyes then snapped to me, pinning me to the bed with their intensity. The playful glint was still there, but beneath it was a steely assessment.
"And you, brat," he stated, his tone shifting to something gruffer, though the underlying amusement was undeniable. "If you think driving off a Scythe—however impressive that was—is sufficient to secure my granddaughter's affections, you are profoundly mistaken."
The words were a challenge, yet the twinkle in his eyes and the faint curve of his lips betrayed his true feelings. He was enjoying Tessia's flustered state far too much.
"Elder Virion," Queen Merial interjected smoothly, stepping gracefully over her still-prone husband and into the room. Her voice was calm, carrying a gentle authority that instantly tempered the chaos. She placed a placating hand on Virion's arm.
"I think you have teased Tessia quite enough for one afternoon." Her gaze, warm and perceptive, shifted to me. There was a quiet kindness in her eyes, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy of her husband and father-in-law.
"Grey," she said, her voice soft but clear, "despite the rather... extended acquaintance you and Tessia share, I don't believe Alduin and I have ever properly introduced ourselves to you." She offered a small, genuine smile. "Outside of official functions and the twins' twelfth birthday celebrations, that is."
"Which was already four years ago," Alduin grumbled, finally hauling himself upright and dusting off his robes, his dignity somewhat restored though his cheeks were faintly flushed. He gave me a curt, appraising nod.
Suddenly, I was the epicenter of overwhelming royal attention. Alduin began firing questions about the fight with Dragoth, his voice sharp with interest. Merial asked softer, more personal questions about my recovery, her concern genuine. Virion interjected with wry comments, observations about my recklessness, and playful barbs aimed at Tessia's deepening blush.
The infirmary room, moments ago a sanctuary of quiet recovery, was now a vortex of familial energy—intrusive, chaotic, yet undeniably alive.
Through the barrage of questions and the warmth of Merial's hand briefly resting on my blanket-covered leg in a gesture of comfort, I caught Corvis's eye. He stood slightly apart, leaning against the wall near the foot of the bed. He wasn't joining the interrogation; he was watching.
And the look he gave me—a complex mix of amusement, brotherly solidarity, and something deeper, more contemplative—was unmistakable. It was the look of someone who needed to share important news, but was momentarily content to let me flounder in the delightful, bewildering storm of his family's attention.
He knew exactly how overwhelming this was for me, and he was deriving a tiny, affectionate bit of enjoyment from witnessing it.
And as the questions swirled around me—Alduin's probing, Merial's concern, Virion's teasing, Tessia's flustered protests—a profound realization settled over me, quieting the internal noise despite the external chaos.
It was good. This cacophony, this intrusion, this sheer, unvarnished closeness... it was profoundly good. Warmth bloomed in my chest, a warmth unrelated to my injuries or embarrassment. Family.
In my first life, as King Grey, I had known only isolation. An orphan's loneliness. The woman I had dared to call mother, the only source of unconditional warmth I'd ever known, was ripped from me in fire and smoke.
That loss had been the first fracture, the catalyst that began the slow, agonizing separation from Nico and Cecilia, the only friends who had ever mattered. And Cecilia... the memory was a shard of ice in my soul. Her anguished plea echoing across the battlefield, her desperate lunge onto my blade, choosing death over being a weapon against Nico... I had failed them. Utterly.
My greatest mistake, I understood it with crushing clarity during my exile in Epheotus, had been the fortress I built around my heart.
King Grey had believed emotions were weakness, vulnerability to be excised. He had hidden his pain, his fear, his love, behind layers of cold control and ruthless ambition. He had pushed away the very connections that could have saved him, saved them.
But only know I understood the why. I understood why that was a mistake.
Sylvia... the name surfaced from the depths of my very soul. The image of the gentle, ancient dragon, her scales the colour of snow with beautiful gold and purple, her eyes holding the wisdom of ages and an unexpected kindness and love I have never seen in my new life until then.
She had found me in the desolate, soul-crushing expanse of Taegrin Caelum, a broken weapon forged by Agrona. She hadn't seen a tool for the High Sovereign's sick goals; she'd seen a lost boy drowning in darkness and cold. She had offered hope, a path away from the abyss. She had given me Sylvie. She had whispered of a different life, a life where connection wasn't weakness, but strength.
My gaze drifted over the scene before me: Virion, Alduin, Merial, Corvis, Tessia and Sylvie, now perched happily on Tessia's shoulder, chirping at something she muttered. This chaos, this overwhelming, noisy, loving entanglement... was this the life Sylvia had envisioned for me?
Was this the person she had hoped I would become—not just powerful enough to protect himself, but connected? Open? Vulnerable in the ways that truly mattered?
Is this the type of person you wished me to become? The question formed in my mind, directed towards the memory of the dragon who had offered me salvation, the grandmother who made all of this possible. It was rhetorical, a silent acknowledgment sent into the air. I knew she couldn't answer.
But gazing at Tessia, who met my eyes for a fleeting second, her blush softening into a shy, shared smile despite the surrounding chaos, I felt an answer resonate deep within my heart, warm and certain.
Yes. This warmth, this belonging, this messy, imperfect, fiercely protective love... this was worth every scar, every battle, every moment of vulnerability.
Sylvia's hope hadn't been in vain. For the first time, truly, King Grey's ghost felt laid to rest. I was Grey, this Grey, and I was home.