Private Tales The Dreams We Lost and the Hell We Found

[Dane Fedyr]

The orders came in.

Marked Ones to serve on the front lines, keeping the growing number of wyvern and jarlax attacks at bay. Defend the border, defend the wall, defend Thanasis.

Dane Fedyr had thought this was his end. He had said too many things that toed the line, and that this was his punishment. That was all he had been dealt these past few weeks. Tasks that were beneath him, but due to the Mark that took up the entirety of one arm, Dane was given guard duty, scouting the wylds on foot, and even standing guard to another Marked brother, watching his health and mind decline.

Now, he was here, at the war camps. The weather was shit, and despite the spring weather promised to arrive, the rain had been pelting down on them the day they arrived two days ago.

Their squad was to head out on a scouting mission tonight, infantry on foot and those few lucky Marked that bonded a dragon were free to take to the skies.

He had learned that the Commander had wanted all Marked Ones to be armed and fighting on the ground. That is was Nadya Caliar, the Wing Leader he met that night in the prison, had been the one to rally votes to pass that dragons were important for aerial support, and the best way to keep Thanasis safe. Dane figured she had done that as one last apology to his new friend Cullen.

Friend... what a way to jump ahead. One of the Royal Guards had approached him, tasked him in looking out for the Morvane guy by order of the Princess. He didn't know if it was legitimate, but it didn't take much convincing for Dane to realise that Morvane needed someone to watch his back. Rumours, whispers, not-so-good things were being said the moment Morvane came to camp on his dragon.

Dane looked up, searching for him in the field beyond the camps. There he is... under the tree cover and out from the rain. He released a breath and started the walk over, ready to be turned away like he had been the past couple of days, but still, Fedyr persisted.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen sat beneath the tree, his back against the rough bark, the weight of the rain a constant reminder of the misery that had become his life. His body still ached from the beatings, the bruises beneath his skin a shadow of the torment he'd endured. His thoughts were just as bruised, battered by the memories of Eira and the betrayal that had torn everything apart. Every time his fingers brushed the small gold band tucked safely in his palm, it was a dagger to his chest. Her last gift, his last piece of her that still lingered in the hollow of his chest. It should have meant something—more than this.

But now... nothing meant anything anymore.

The camp around him was a cacophony of noise, soldiers preparing for battle, the scent of wet earth and steel heavy in the air. The war, the fight, it all felt meaningless. His role here was simple: survive until he couldn't anymore, just as they all expected. He had no intention of fighting for anyone—no loyalty, no hope. The walls he'd built around himself were stronger than any of the ones keeping the wyvern and jarlax at bay. He didn't care about saving Thanasis. He didn't care about anything anymore.

When he heard footsteps approach, Cullen didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He already knew who it was. Fedyr, the one who had been assigned to watch his back, though Cullen didn’t need watching. It was a pointless gesture. Just another reminder of how far he'd fallen, from a fighter to a broken man.

The Marked Ones, the cursed ones, the ones who never seemed to get a break. He’d always known the world didn’t give a fuck about them, but now he knew—knew it deep down, in the marrow of his bones. Thanasis wanted them gone.

Fedyr’s presence loomed, but Cullen made no move to acknowledge him. His fingers curled tighter around the gold band, holding it to the point of pain before he stowed it away inside his jacket. He didn’t want to be reminded. Not now. Not when the air felt so heavy with the scent of rain and blood.

Finally, after a long silence, Cullen’s voice broke through, low and rough from disuse. "What do you want?"

He didn’t look up as he spoke, his tone flat, devoid of anything other than the dull ache of resignation. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t warm. It just was. He didn’t need anyone's pity. He certainly had no interest in making more friends to stab him in the back.

 

[Dane Fedyr]

Doesn't he look like shit, Dane thought to himself. He stopped a few feet away, exhaling softly as he looked upon the broken shell that was Cullen Morvane.

"We're heading out tonight. Scouting." The beginning of going to the front. It was more of a distribution of soldiers going to the next camp, not returning to this one. "But I a duty of care to make sure you are right for this. You die, and then you cause your dragon grief."

Dane heard the rumour from some other Wing member. That Morvane fell in love with a noble girl, who then fell in love with the Solherre heir and left him behind. That Cullen pleaded after her, and the truth of their relationship became known.

That he knew to be untrue.

Not when his back had been to Cullen the entire time he was locked up in that cell in the tower. The Malennis Lord had not cared that Fedyr had stood there at the end of the hall, had not cared that Fedyr had been there on the stairs and watched the Lord choke the Wing Leader. He had thought the entire Malennis family were villainous, but it seemed Ilir exceeded his expectations.

He remembered letting Eira Malennis pass, remembered what she told Cullen. Remembered that entire exchange and understood the breaking happening to Cullen's heart.

It was why he knew to honour the Princess' order to keep an eye on him. He figured out that Morvane was good friends with the future husband of the Princess, and that connection alone made sense. Cullen was important, Cullen was loved.

He was lucky to have made the friends that cared.

Fedyr didn't have that exactly.

"If you want a reason to live, then let me give you one." Fedyr lowered now, crouching down on one leg. "The first mistake was making the Marked Ones come out here to the front. They are training us, becoming weapons, and yet they have no hold over us now that they killed off our parents." They did not know about his sister. Despite their similarities, only he and his sister's mother knew of their relation. Cleo's father was a General, decorated hero. "There are talks of rebellion. Talks of the Rising to start again."

Dane smiled, unafraid to speak of such things before Morvane.

"When that time comes, I am getting myself a dragon, and then I am going to win the hearts of Thanasis so I can watch their faces turn to horror the moment rebellion knocks on their door."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen let out a slow breath, tilting his head back against the tree trunk, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The rain pattered against the leaves above, a steady rhythm that filled the silence between them. He should have been angry at Fedyr’s words—at the presumption that he needed watching, that his grief made him a liability. But he wasn’t. He was too damn tired. Too damn empty.

He listened, though. Not because he cared about the cause Fedyr spoke of, or the idea of rebellion. No, Cullen had spent his entire life knowing that the world was against the Marked. He didn’t need another speech about injustice, about how they were expendable. He knew. He lived it. But something about the way Fedyr spoke—so certain, so calm—made Cullen's gaze flick toward him.

Cullen huffed, a flicker of irritation breaking through the numbness. “I don’t need babysitting, Fedyr,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough. The words were meant to push the lad back, to set a boundary, but the comment about his dragon, the only thing left that tethered him to this world—caused something to twist deep in his chest. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “I don’t intend on dying.”

It should have been a conviction, but it felt more like an afterthought. A promise made for someone else’s sake rather than his own.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his damp hair. But as Fedyr kept talking—about rebellion, about the Rising—Cullen stiffened, his gaze flicking past him to scan the tree line. His expression darkened. He shifted, adjusting his stance, not in fear but in weary pragmatism. “Keep that shit down,” he cautioned, his voice a sharp whisper edged with warning. His frown deepened.

“You think they have no hold over you?” His laugh was dry, mirthless, a rough scrape of sound. “Trust me, they’ll find one.”

He’d seen it before. The way Thanasis dug its claws into people, into him. First, it was duty. Then, it was loyalty. Then, love. And when all of that failed? They’d take what little you had left and twist the knife deeper.

Cullen could have warned him not to throw his life away. He could have told him that all the conviction in the world wouldn’t stop the inevitable. But what exactly was this? What was he doing, sitting here, letting himself waste away like a man already dead?

He had been beaten down too many times, stripped of everything that once made him fight. And now that his heart had been crushed, now that there was nothing left to salvage, he found himself wondering—was there anything left to care about?