The Sea of Sands sprawled endless before them, a land flayed by the sun and stripped to bone. Cracked earth stretched to every horizon, broken only by the carcasses of beasts long dead and the hollow ruins of forgotten cities.
There were no birds. No breeze. Only the whisper of sand shifting beneath slow, desperate feet.
Elarya trudged forward, arms wrapped tightly around her newborn — her son. Though no one but the gods could say what he truly was now.
Sulien's skin burned hotter than any babe should. Even through the linen she'd swaddled him in, his heat pulsed like a living ember — fierce, unnatural, and impossibly steady.
He slept now — or seemed to.
But within, the soul inside him stirred.
"This is insane..."
Thoughts spiraled in the dark.
The woman inside Sulien, the one who had died in another world, fought to stay grounded. The sun's heat, the scrape of linen, the beat of Elarya's heart — all of it felt too real. Too sharp.
She had tested this body. Small, frail, useless — it was hers now She could flinch, kick, cry. Her fingers twitched. Her breath obeyed. It wasn't a dream.
It wasn't a story.
Except… it was.
She didn't say it aloud again. She didn't need to. She knew.
This was the world from that old fantasy novel she had barely finished — the one that ended in fire and betrayal. The names, the people, the dragons. Elarya Vyrmyr, last of her line. The Queen of Ashes of the East.
But this wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Sulien had never lived. The dragons hatched late. Elarya wandered. She grew strong. Then she died.
But now… everything had changed.
Ser Kael trudged behind, limping, shoulder bound, face smeared in dry blood. He'd said little since the pyre. But his eyes never left the child.
"He looks stronger already," he muttered. His voice cracked from thirst and awe.
Elarya didn't look up. "He lives. That is miracle enough."
The dragons lay nestled in a deep-woven basket, guarded closely by one of Elarya's handmaidens. The black one — bolder, more watchful — would occasionally lift his head, his ember eyes always drawn toward the bundle in Elarya's arms.
Sometimes he lifted his head from the basket, eyes glowing as he watched Elarya pass — like a hound, curious at its mother's every step. One of the handmaidens, a soft-spoken woman named Yasri, approached hesitantly, her gaze flicking between the child and Elarya.
"Shakareen," Yasri said gently, "what… what is he? I've served three Shakareens in my life, but never… never have I seen a baby like this. Does your bloodline carry magic?" with eyes full of curiosity, waiting to be answered.
Elarya shook her head slowly. "No. Not even the old texts speak of anything like this. Vyrmyr blood is rare — but not cursed. Not blessed, either. This… this is something else."
Yasri's eyes drifted to the black dragon, who watched the child as if guarding him. "Do they think he's one of them?"
Elarya looked down at Sulien, who shifted softly in her arms. "Maybe," she murmured. "Maybe they do."
From within the child's mind, the woman stirred uneasily.
"Why does it keep staring at me...?" she thought. "Do they sense something? Perhaps they think I'm their sibling..?"
Dragons weren't just beasts. She remembered that much from the novel. They were creatures of fire and blood — instinctual, ancient, tied to something deeper. They felt magic. Maybe even kinship. Maybe they thought Sulien was their sibling — not because they sensed a foreign soul within, but because he, like them, was born from the same fire. Another hatchling. Not fully dragon, not fully human — but something in-between.
Night fell.
Stars bled into the sky as the heat gave way to a bone-deep chill. The small camp the Vol'kherens scraped together crackled with fire. The dragons curled near its warmth, their breath steaming in the desert dark.
Kael eased himself down near the flames, wincing as he touched his side. "We can't keep this pace," he said. "Water runs low. And we've no map, no shelter."
Elarya stared into the dark, the baby resting against her breast. "There is one place left," she murmured. "The heart of the city of Vol'kheren."
Kael raised his head. "Vol'Shaar...?" he asked, though his voice had turned cautious. Vol'Shaar — the permanent settlement and ancestral heartland of the Vol'kherens. Unlike their nomadic camps, it was where their people returned after raids, births, or deaths — a place of stone and legacy. It was where the remaining Shak'vars ruled, where old rivalries simmered and strength still dictated survival. "Elarya… you returning there — you're only a widowed Shakareen now. Without a Shak'var beside you, there will be others who see Sulien as a threat. A boy like him might grow to claim titles that other Shak'vars would kill to protect."
She turned toward him, her brows drawn with the weight of old memories and fresh fear. "I know the dangers, Ser." she said quietly, voice threaded with steel but laced with weariness. "But it's the only place we have left. And Rogo... I was his Shakareen — and now I return not as a wife, but as the last Vyrmyr. Let them see me afraid if they must. Let them mock a woman with no stallion beside her. But they will also see I did not die in those flames — and neither did my son."
The child in her arms stirred. Not a cry. Just… watching. Eyes like pale amethyst reflecting firelight.
Ser Kael noticed the child and furrowed his brow. "When's the last time you've seen a baby this calm after being in a long journey in this desert?"
Elarya smiled faintly, brushing a finger down his small cheek. "He's quiet because he trusts me, Ser. Maybe he knows my heartbeat. Knowing that he is safe. He's my son. And that's enough."
—Within the child's mind—
"They don't know I can hear them. That I can feel all of this."
The woman curled inside Sulien's body listened. Her senses were clearer now. Her thoughts sharper. She wasn't just along for the ride anymore — not entirely.
Elarya's voice grounded her.
Her warmth. Her heartbeat. Her eyes.
That smile she gave — that pure, aching love — made the soul inside the child go still.
"She's not just a character anymore. She's real. Alive. And she loves me…" she thought. "Even if she doesn't know what I truly am."
She felt it then — the weight of the story. The direction it once followed. The way Elarya died chasing a throne in the west. Slaughtered by allies. Labeled a witch. Betrayed.
But maybe… maybe it didn't have to end that way.
"She doesn't need to die."
"She doesn't need a throne."
"She needs a place to belong — not a throne forged by blood, but a home where she won't be feared for what runs in her veins."
A soft snort of heat tickled her cheek.
The black dragon had landed close, curling his head low. He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Sulien with something like recognition — as if trying to understand him.
Not to Elarya.
To Sulien.
A low rumble vibrated in his throat. Not a growl.
A greeting.
Elarya blinked as the black dragon huffed warm air against Sulien's face. Her arms tightened protectively, an instinctive surge of worry rising in her chest. The creature was still so small, and so was her son. But as she watched the dragon slowly settle beside them, curling in as if drawn by some deeper bond, her breath eased.
"Easy now," she whispered under her breath — more to herself than to the beast. Her heart beat like a war drum in her chest, but it wasn't fear that lingered. It was something else — the beginning of understanding. A flicker of something maternal, stretching not just to Sulien, but to the dragons as well.
She looked at the black-scaled creature again. Still young, still learning. Just like her child. And slowly, Elarya began to wonder — if maybe, just maybe, she hadn't only birthed a son, but something more.
Something that came with siblings of claw and flame.
The woman inside of Sulien blinked, watching the small black dragon resting beside them, eyes gleaming with silent curiosity. It blinked back at her — or rather, at Sulien. A mirrored motion. A silent recognition.
"This family's weird," she thought, lips curled in the echo of a smirk that only her mind could shape. "But I think I can live with that."
And so the child of ash breathed in silence beneath a sky full of stars. The road ahead uncertain. The story already off-script.
But for now — there was breath. There was warmth. There was hope.