The first thing Jonathan noticed was the smell of ash. How dark the room was when he opened his eyes. And the comfort of his bed. He was a bit disoriented, still trying to gain back his senses. Squinting his eyes shut to help quell the dull pain in his head.
Then… silence. Only the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own heartbeat was audible.
He opened his eyes slowly, as if his body wasn't quite ready to return to consciousness. His sheets clung to him—drenched in cold sweat. The room was dim. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, painting silver stripes across the carpet. Jonathan sat up and looked around. He didn't initially see anything until he saw softly glowing orange eyes in the dark. Jonathan rushed to turn his lamp on.
And Ethan was there.
Sitting across the room, hunched forward in a wooden chair in the corner of the room.
Eyes still glowing faintly in the shadows. The lamp light did not fully reach him. Ethan was just watching. Silent. Still. Waiting to see how his friend would react.
Jonathan blinked.
His throat was dry. His head hurt. He was about to greet his best friend—say something dumb and sarcastic, like, Why the long face, buddy boy?
But then—
He remembered.
The alley.
The gang.
The roar.
The fire.
The monster.
Ethan.
The thing in the dark.
A sound escaped him. Not words—just a breath caught on a razor of memory.
Then his stomach twisted. Violently.
He leaned over the bed and vomited.
A thick, wet splatter hit the hardwood. Again And again. And again.
His body shook with the force of it— a violent retching that made his back arch and his face turn crimson.
He couldn't stop.
His body wanted it out.
All of it.
The terror. The awe. The truth.
"Jonathan—" Ethan started to rise.
The door burst open.
Lora, in a robe, panic in her face. "Jonny?! What's wrong?!"
Jonathan couldn't answer.
He was too busy breaking.
Lora rushed to his side, her hands already on his sweat-drenched shoulders.
"Oh my god, baby, you're freezing—come on, come on." She helped him up, guiding his trembling frame into the bathroom.
Ethan remained in the chair.
Frozen. Silent.
He had never seen anything like this before.
Not from battle. Not from war.
Not from him.
Ethan felt completely powerless to help his friend and for a while he stayed rooted in the chair, lost in his swirling thoughts.
The bathroom light clicked on. The sounds of more vomiting followed—wet, raw, and horrible. Jonathan gagged like his soul was trying to escape, trembling so hard he nearly collapsed. Cold sweat poured off him in rivers. His body didn't understand what it had seen.
How could it?
Lora whispered comforts. Rubbed his back. Held him even as he shook like a leaf in a hurricane. She thought it was trauma from the gang. From a violent mugging. From human fear.
But Ethan knew better.
Jonathan wasn't afraid of death, or those thugs that jumped him.
He was afraid of him. Of the creatures that crawled out of a nightmare.
Ethan sat there, staring at the spot where his best friend had collapsed.
He'd saved Jonathan's life. But he'd broken something in the process.
And now…
He didn't know how to fix it. All Ethan could do was sit near the bathroom door as he watched helplessly. Jonathan shook over his toilet, emptying his stomach, skin pale, sweat soaking the shirt he wore. All Ethan could do was be here for his friend.
The bathroom lights were too bright. Jonathan knelt beside the toilet, sweat-soaked, trembling. He felt absolutely terrible. The harsh white glow from the light buzzed overhead like a swarm of bees, making the tiled floor feel like an interrogation room. His breath came in short, tight gasps as if his lungs couldn't draw in enough air. His stomach had long since emptied itself, but the dry heaving wouldn't stop. Every time he blinked, he saw it again.
The roar.
The fire.
The way flesh disappeared beneath that infernal light.
The way the air smelled like melted bone.
Lora Vega knelt beside him, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a cool rag. "You're okay now, Jonny." You're safe. "I've got you." Her voice was calm, warm and soothing. But her eyes darted occasionally to the hallway behind her—where Ethan stood.
When Ethan stepped into the bathroom doorway, Jonathan's body reacted before his mind could stop it. He flinched. Barely. A shiver. Averted his eyes. But Lora saw it.
She watched her son turn away—not in shame or embarrassment—but fear.
She turned to Ethan and rose to her feet, whispering, "Come with me."
Jonathan remained hunched over, eyes unfocused as his mother and friend stepped into the hallway. The door didn't close. He could still hear the faint echoes of their voices, but they felt miles away.
Dragon.
It wasn't a word.
It was a presence burned into his bones.
Every time he tried to picture Ethan's face—his smile, his stupid jokes, the way he always made people feel seen—that face would flicker. The friendly boy warped behind his eyelids, distorted by memory. Glowing red eyes. Jagged obsidian horns. Teeth like swords. Wings that made the sky disappear.
Jonathan gagged again, this time dry, body curling as if to protect itself from a phantom.
In the hallway, Lora kept her voice quiet but firm. "What happened?"
Ethan's reply came slowly, calculated. "There was a gang. I saw them jumping Jonathan. I stepped in. I used what I'd been taught to fight them off… then brought him home." He was lucky I was passing by. I taught those thugs a valuable lesson.
She studied him. She'd seen Ethan fight before—she'd even taken pictures of him holding trophies at state tournaments. As far-fetched as it sounded, she could actually picture Ethan laying down a can of hurt and pain on those bastards. But something unspoken passed between them. Lora didn't push. Not tonight. But she was suspicious of Ethan. The boy didn't have a scratch on him, his clothes looked untouched, no evidence of a scratch on him. She let it go through, her Jonathan was home safe, and to her that was all that really mattered.
"Thank you for watching over him," she said softly. "You really are a blessing, Ethan. Pancakes in twenty minutes?"
Ethan offered a nod, eyes distant. "If it's okay… could you call me down when it's ready? I want to be upstairs. With him."
She smiled faintly," Yeah, I'll call you down when they're ready. Now go in there. I think Jonathan needs his friend. Turning around, Lora left.
Back in Jonathan's room, the silence was thicker than before.
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. He watched his friend carefully—saw the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes never met his. Ethan felt like he was radiating heat again, like his very presence might crack the room.
"Bro," Ethan said quietly, "I know this is a shock. And a blow to the trust we've built. Believe me, if there had been any other way to stop those thugs, I would've taken it. But you were in danger, man. "You're my best friend. "I can't pretend to know exactly how you feel, but know this—" he hesitated, his voice soft, low, real, "I wouldn't have endangered my identity for anyone else."
He stood, ready to leave.
But then Jonathan's hand shot out. Trembling. Tight.
"Sit down," he said, voice hoarse. "I've got a lot to say. And I know you'll listen."
Ethan sat.
Jonathan shook his head, breathing ragged. "I'm terrified, bro. You're a goddamn dragon. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?! You killed people. I don't know if I should thank you… or beg you not to burn me next."
He laughed once—sharp and bitter. "You looked like terror incarnate. I nearly soiled myself."
The room was still.
Ethan didn't get angry. He didn't argue. He just… listened.
A quiet storm behind his eyes. A sadness.
And a look that said, I'd do it again—if it meant keeping you safe.
Downstairs, Lora flipped a blueberry pancake. The pan sizzled beneath her hand. She couldn't make out what the boys were saying, but she heard their voices.
She smiled to herself.
Whatever had happened out there tonight—her son had a real friend.
And that, to her, was everything.